


let none be content with me

by Mizzy



Category: Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, Avengers Vol. 1 (1963), Comic Book Science, Comic Book Violence, Comic canon era typical level of sleep deprivation I guess, Grief/Mourning, Heart Attacks, Identity Porn, Iron Man Vol. 1 (1968), M/M, Sharing a Bed, Sleep Deprivation, Tony Stark Needs Sleep, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark has Low Self-Esteem, and comic book levels of glossing over it in favour of bed snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 11:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 101,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21373606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizzy/pseuds/Mizzy
Summary: After Detective Michael O'Brien learns Iron Man's real identity, Tony invites him to stay in the Avengers' mansion while he fixes the flaw in the Guardsman armor that led to Michael's brother's death, an incident that Tony still hasn't properly dealt with.The Avengers take to Michael, and they might like him more than Iron Man, which Tony... isn't too surprised about. People should like Michael more than they like him. And when new threats and villains just start piling up, Tony has to seriously consider Iron Man's future. Or lack thereof.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 109
Kudos: 303





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic exists because I had feelings about the O'Brien brothers, and I drastically missed early 616 Tony Stark's beautiful angsty melodrama of woe. It takes place sort-of just after Iron Man vol. 1 #102 (just after Frankenstein's Monster has gone to make a beautiful new future with Victoria Van Frankenstein, but I've delayed Sitwell's story arc) and Avengers 1 #160 (Grim Reaper's invasion of the mansion to put Wonder Man and Vision on trial) but I've fudged with the plot and timelines because there's too much canon for my tiny brain to handle. (I also didn't want to touch Steve's fake memory plotline with a bargepole.) Because of the magical Marvel sliding timescale, this fic is set in modern times, so the storyline in 99-102+ about Midas taking over Stark International would never have happened with modern tech and law, so I'm re-writing that part of the canon.  
The title is from Walt Whitman's poem "So Long!", which this fic is also very inspired by. Different versions exist, but the title line comes from this one: https://whitmanarchive.org/published/LG/1860/poems/162  
Thank you to immoral-crow for the beta, any mistakes left are mine and mine alone.

Yet not me, after all—let none be content with me,

I myself seek a man better than I am

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

With the damage he took from fighting the Mandarin's death squad, Tony doesn't have enough energy to fly home, so he detours to Milan on his way home to lick his wounds and power up the Mark IV armor. He's still not used to how light the suit is, especially in its pre-polarized form, but it's saved his life more than once this past week.

He ends up staying at the Milan branch of _Stark International_ longer than he means to.

The Milan branch has a private workspace for Tony already set up, because that's one of his conditions for every branch and factory around the world; even if he rarely visits, he needs to know he has somewhere to work on Iron Man wherever his enemies turn up. A couple of hours should be plenty to power up and get back on his way. He lands as Iron Man a small distance away from the main building, and he uses the cover of the bushes nearby to collapse the Mark IV armor back into the chestplate. Tony uses the small strip of foil that Reed gave him to dress in his suit, and emerges from the bushes as Tony Stark.

He then walks up to the staff entrance and keys in the over-ride code he has that allows him into any of his facilities. The expressions on the guards' faces when he walks in unannounced are hilarious, but Tony doesn't have time to enjoy it. Because apparently _Stark International_ has been under fire of its own. Moments after Tony's appearance, he is greeted with by the Director of his Milan facility in a flurry of angry French. Tony's impressed that she remembered his Italian is terrible. His French is much better, but even at her rapid delivery it takes Tony a few minutes to understand what she's saying.

At first he worries that Michael O'Brien has told the world what he knows, that Tony Stark _is_ Iron Man, but once Tony realizes that's not the case, he focuses harder on what she's saying. When it sinks in, it's because she shoves an Italian newspaper into his hand, and then hovers a reader over it which translates it. Tony vaguely remembers the reports from Milan at how close they were to creating a mobile translator for text. He guesses this is the prototype. He takes both the paper and the reader from her and squints at the headline in disbelief.

It's impossible.

"_STARK INTERNATIONAL IN HOSTILE TAKEOVER SHOCKER! STARK TOPPLES IN THE WAKE OF MIDAS INTERNATIONAL!"_

There's a massive photograph of Mordecai Midas standing in front of the _Stark International_ Long Island corporate headquarters, a wide smile on his face as workers behind him swap out the _Stark_ for _Midas_ on the main sign.

Tony swears in Italian for her benefit and demands access to a telephone.

* * *

Five hours later, Tony slumps over a table, done. His company is still his. He still safely owns over half of the stock. The takeover was a hoax. A lie the entire world was told at the same time.

It's been a few months since Midas tried to steal _Stark International_—back when it was still _Stark Industries—_from under his nose: replacing him with a Life Model Decoy, roping his dumb-ass cousin into the scheme. Suddenly all the chaos from the last couple of months makes sense. The sabotage at his factories, the accusation of stolen Aerospace patents, the gossip that he was accepting bribes from officials around the world in return for exclusive rights to his tech. Midas, the whole time. Fabulous. Tony rubs his temples. Midas is probably the one behind his other armors going missing too.

It's easy enough to sort out. Midas' plan seems like he planned on just _telling the whole world_ that _Stark International_ was now _Midas International_, and relying on enough people just believing it to be the truth to send the whole company into chaos. Their legal hassles with Aerospace were easy to clear up, thank goodness, because Tony's got more than enough evidence of every step of his inventions that Aerospace cannot effectively replicate. The only snag is how Aerospace even managed to get hold of the copy of the final draft, but Tony pushes that to the back-burner for now. The gossip about the bribes has already been shot down.

One press-release, filmed and broadcast worldwide outside of the Milan headquarters, clears up most of the rest of the problem. Tony's actually impressed that Midas has managed to hijack most of the world's media at once.

Tony stays a week to fix his armor, but even he knows he's procrastinating, and he's getting increasingly hysterical calls from Krissy, his PA. He knows exactly what he's doing: avoiding Michael O'Brien.

The initial plan had been to defeat the Mandarin and then immediately return to the mansion. There he would be quickly able to help Michael get used to this brave new world where notoriously selfish playboy Tony Stark is actually the heroic Iron Man.

Life likes to laugh at Tony's plans.

It's been well over a week since Tony sent Michael back to New York in an Avengers quinjet. Tony hopes Michael's okay. He hopes Jarvis understood the brief instructions he left with Michael, for Michael to be afforded every courtesy. Without the quinjet to make his own return journey, Tony has to make his own arrangements. He books Tony Stark a first-class ticket to JFK, hires someone from his usual security detail to take the flight in his place, and then he makes a video call to Jasper Sitwell.

Sitwell's face is frantic when he appears on the screen. "Stark! Boy, am I happy to see you!"

"Sitwell," Tony smiles. "Let's make that the last time I let you run my company in my absence, hm?"

Sitwell flushes. "To be fair, Midas didn't _really_ steal it. He just made everyone think he did?"

"Do me a favor and we'll call it even," Tony says,

"Anything," Sitwell says. Tony's dubious. He thought that SHIELD trained its agents well, but if they go around saying _anything_ to a Stark, then they probably need to rethink their training.

Regardless, just over four hours later Sitwell turns up on the forecourt of the Milan headquarters, and it's Iron Man who soars out of the building to meet him. Tony doesn't want to risk traveling with his suit on a commercial flight, and Sitwell's little jet is twice as fast as flying home in the armor. With the way so many of his armors have gone missing recently, he's probably right to be careful.

Tony's only going through so many mental justifications because he needs his brain to be onboard the _working with Sitwell is a good idea_ train. He's found himself being reluctant to work with Sitwell more than a few times these past few months, and it's probably because he's still a little heart sore about Whitney Frost.

Whitney had been in a love triangle with Iron Man and Sitwell for a while. She chose Sitwell. Tony couldn't pretend it hadn't stung a little, even if his heart has been decidedly elsewhere since that incident.

Tony pushes that thought away. His heart will just have to remain unsatisfied.

Sitwell doesn't appear as hesitant to see Iron Man; he beams as Tony folds himself into the seat in Sitwell's plane.

"Iron Man," Sitwell says. "Boy, am I happy to see you!"

Tony wonders whether that's Sitwell, or whether the phrase is brainwashed into all SHIELD agents to say. "Any news on the missing armors?" he asks.

"Hello, Jasper, it's awfully nice to see you," Sitwell says, but he's already locking the hatch and preparing to take off.

"Armors," Tony prompts again, as Sitwell punches in their flight plan and starts the flight home.

"Still missing."

"Learned anything new about the woman yet?"

Sitwell shakes his head. "Sorry. Still no idea who she is. We scoured the tapes. There _was_ no extra person on _Stark International_ grounds to even account for someone being there."

Tony sighs, the modulator ruffling it into a stuttered squeaking noise. There was definitely a mystery woman in his building. She showed him where his Mark II armor was hidden, so he could put it on to rescue Michael from the Mandarin. He didn't get the sense she was an enemy, but Tony's not feeling entirely on top of any current situation.

He's still raw that he nearly somehow lost his company. He's lucky that he caught it so quickly. He's lucky he had the foresight to log every step of his patent creation. Is he lucky enough that he has a friend watching out for him too?

"I contacted your friend, Detective O'Brien," Sitwell says, when he realizes Iron Man isn't going to talk to him. "It was him that gave us the clue to really get the patent issue sorted out so quickly."

"Yeah?"

"Local PI called Harry Key," Sitwell explains. "O'Brien hired him to find evidence of Tony Stark's guilt in Kevin O'Brien's death; it turns out Key was double-dipping. Midas had hired him to steal the patent."

Tony sits and churns. Michael had hired a PI to investigate Kevin's death. Of course he did. Tony would have done the same, and a million other stupid things besides that too.

"Is he settling into the Avengers mansion okay?" Tony asks.

Sitwell shrugs. "I suppose. We met at a coffee shop. He speaks very highly of you, and your boss."

"Where's Key now?"

"Under watch. I didn't want to arrest him, because then Mr. O'Brien might also get arrested for enabling and facilitating corporate espionage, and I wanted to get your opinion first. Would _Stark International_ want to pursue Mr. Key formally?"

Tony thinks about it. "You'd have to ask my boss to be sure, but I'd doubt it. Detective O'Brien's been through enough."

Mostly thanks to Tony himself.

Sitwell lets Tony sit in silence for most of the rest of the flight and Tony sinks deep in his thoughts in worry.

Michael knows he's Iron Man. And while Tony's hoping that Michael's kept the truth to himself of Iron Man's real identity, Tony can't really blame him if Michael doesn't keep that particular promise. Promises made after you've just been kidnapped by a supervillain probably shouldn't be as watertight as one given after careful thought and consideration.

Tony takes a deep breath as he thinks about what he might be coming back to. If Michael's told even _Jarvis_ that Iron Man and Tony Stark are the same person... well, it's pretty certain Jarvis would tell Captain America, and then all the Avengers would know. Tony's heart condition is well known, although perhaps the Avengers don't know yet that the synthetic heart given to him by the Ultra-Rejuvenator has failed. So maybe if Michael's told them the truth, and the Avengers now _know_ Tony is Iron Man... Maybe they won't immediately eject him from the team?

It's a pipedream, though. Tony prides himself on being a futurist, on being able to predict the way the world is going to change, but he's also a realist. He's put a lot of energy into maintaining the care-free, uncaring persona of Tony Stark. Even though he's spent years now fighting alongside the Avengers, he knows Iron Man's actions are mostly irreconcilable with Tony Stark's public behavior. No. It's a certainty. If the truth comes out, Tony will be alone.

He thinks about Kevin O'Brien and his hands clench into fists. Being alone is the least of what Tony deserves.

* * *

Sitwell drops Iron Man off on the roof of the mansion before zipping away with a promise to keep looking for the missing armors. Tony checks no one's watching, ducks down to the back of the building, and collapses the armor back into the chestplate. For a second he wants to just sink into the grass of the back garden, but that's a fleeting impulse.

Tony has to face Michael O'Brien. He can't put it off any longer. He looks up at the mansion fondly. He used to hate coming here, once upon a time. Even when he gave it to the Avengers to freely use, and was forced as Iron Man to routinely visit, the hate lingered. But ever since he faced off against the self-proclaimed Emperor of Titan, Thanos the first, Tony's found himself returning to the mansion more often than ever before, first as Iron Man, but more recently as himself. Usually it's with a legitimate excuse, like fixing up the combat simulation room, or replacing Beast's identicard (more often than not). For the first time, the mansion feels like its finally earned the term _home_.

It was Drax's telepathy that made him feel like he even needed somewhere safe to be. Tony had never felt anything like it before, not even that time he'd been stolen by the 24th Century for his narrowly-escaped execution. There was something so raw about someone communicating directly to his brain that Tony had sought comfort. Hanging around the mansion as Iron Man, waiting for the Avengers, had felt _safe_. Even though Tony knew there were beings out there who could bypass all his defenses, he could still feel safe in the mansion walls. Safe enough to fall asleep.

Tony used to stay in his penthouse apartment to keep a more physical space between Tony Stark and Iron Man, maintain his secret with greater ease, but after nearly falling from space to his death a couple of months ago, heights have been somewhat a nebulous experience. The views from the penthouse just make him feel queasy and he can't sleep. The mansion feels a lot safer.

The mansion is safe, and Tony resents that he feels nervous once more to step through his own front door.

He steps through anyway. If he's walking into a trap and the Avengers are waiting there to tell him they know he's Iron Man and that he's unworthy to bear the name _Avenger_, Tony will just have to take it. He deserves it.

* * *

Tony's fears that his secret is out seem to be unwarranted, but he doesn't let himself believe it at first. Jarvis opens the front door to him with a smile, but that doesn't mean anything, really. Jarvis always smiles at him.

"Welcome home, Sir," Jarvis says. He doesn't _sound_ angry or suspicious.

Tony cautiously steps inside, the door shutting behind him, and he lets Jarvis take his coat.

"I'm sorry I'm later than I meant to be," Tony says. "I see the place is still standing."

Jarvis' smile quirks upwards to one side. Oh. There's a story there, more than likely enough.

"I suppose so," Jarvis says. "Your, uh, guest arrived, safe and well."

Tony tenses and tries not to let it show too much on his face. "It wasn't planned, but I'm glad that's the case. Detective O'Brien has had, uh—a rather trying time recently."

"As have you, according to the papers," Jarvis says and nods at Tony's rueful smile. "I installed Mr. O'Brien in Bedroom 5. I presumed that's what you wanted."

Tony pats Jarvis on the back companionably, smiling at his thoughtfulness. "A mind reader as always, Mr. Jarvis."

"A gift—given our current guests—I'm almost glad I don't possess," Jarvis says. At Tony's questioning look, Jarvis full-body shudders. "Mr. McCoy's popularity with the ladies at the moment has been– formidable."

"Oh," Tony says. He thinks about it. "Is that why I found a bra in the fridge a couple of weeks ago?"

"Be glad," Jarvis says in a low tone, "that is all you found. Some things cannot be unseen."

Tony winces in commiseration. So far his secret seems safe. "Is Mr. O'Brien in at the moment?"

"He hasn't left his room since he arrived, but the once to visit your SHIELD friend," Jarvis says. "I've been delivering him regular meals, and I had some of his possessions retrieved from his apartment."

"I should have let him know he could have free run of the place. My bad. Then again, maybe it's better that I formally introduce him to the Avengers." Tony pauses guiltily. "And make sure they're okay with a civilian guest on the premises."

"Would you like me to see if the Avengers on the premises at the moment are ready to meet him? Or–" and Jarvis eyes Tony with a suddenly keen eye, "–perhaps you should rest first? Sir?"

Tony shakes his head, even though Jarvis looks supremely disappointed in him. "I'm going to speak to our guest. If you could persuade any Avengers around that their benefactor wouldn't mind a quick word with them, only if it's not too inconvenient...?"

"Captain America is already taking a repast in the kitchen with some of the others," Jarvis says. "I'm sure I can ask them to linger a little after finishing their meals."

"Thank you, Jarvis."

"It's my job, Sir. You don't have to thank me," Jarvis says.

Tony eyeballs Jarvis. "Jarvis," he says, heavily. "For everything you do, yes. Yes, I do."

Jarvis ducks his head, hiding a pleased smile, before hurrying away, knowing Tony likes to be left alone.

Tony heads straight up the main stairs and down the hallway to his personal set of rooms. He needs to face Michael, but he needs to wash and dress in clothes that don't smell like smoke and sweat. Jarvis was too polite to say something, of course. Even though Michael _says _he's forgiven Tony for his part in Kevin's death, it has been a long time since Tony's seen him. Michael's had as much time to think as Tony has. More, even, because Michael hasn't had to waste time fighting _Frankenstein's Monster_. Tony's life is a little bit weirder than he ever imagined it turning out.

He steels himself and moves out onto the main hallway. He has to circle the whole hallway to get to Bedroom 5. It's right by the main elevator, and it's a small corner room, but it has its own bathroom, and a decent view of New York. It's actually bigger than Tony's own bedroom, but Tony has three rooms on the second floor. His office and workshop are larger than his personal chambers, but Tony prefers that. He lives to work, not to sleep. He's exhausted, though, and he thinks longingly for a moment of the plush bed waiting for him in there, which he rarely uses of late, but which Jarvis maintains with clean sheets, airing out the room so it's ready whenever Tony needs it.

Tony forces himself to knock on the door to Bedroom 5 before he gives in to the urge to flee back to his room to try and sleep for a week.

Michael's voice, the soft Irish tone still clear even though the door muffles the sound, breaks through Tony's bed musing. "Come in," he says.

Tony pushes open the door and peers in. Obviously expecting Jarvis, Michael's sitting on a chair that normally sits by the bed. He's pulled it up alongside a round table that's covered in various pieces of paperwork. When Michael sees that it isn't Jarvis, he straightens immediately, and Tony feels suddenly cold. Because when Michael's dark eyes lock onto him, Tony sees _Kevin, _in the flash of his expression and the way Michael's hair lies on his forehead as he rises to his feet. Tony misses his friend. It's an ache like a wound that can't heal. It's another scar for Tony to carry until the day he dies.

"I'm sorry I've left you waiting here so long," Tony says. Every word feels awkward in his mouth. Michael spent so long blaming Tony and Iron Man for Kevin's death, and although Michael knows every truth now—that Tony didn't actively kill his brother and cover it up, and that Tony and Iron Man are the _same man—_Tony doesn't believe that he deserves Michael's forgiveness.

"It's a kindness that you've put me up," Michael says. He stands up straight and looks Tony in the eye. "And the time was a blessing. I've been able to think about things. What happened."

Tony swallows and turns briefly to shut the door. If everything is at it appears and Michael hasn't spilled his secret, this is probably not a conversation Tony wants overheard. Tony thinks he's already predicted what Michael is going to say. He's got the same streak of justice in him that Kevin did. He'll want Tony to fix the Guardsman armor, so he can continue Kevin's legacy. "I presume you have a request?"

Michael jerks his head in a nod and squares his shoulders. He doesn't look away from Tony. "First, I wanted to be real clear. Kevin's death wasn't your fault."

Oh. Well. That's not exactly what Tony was expecting. Tony's obvious surprise seems to please Michael.

"I'm sure that might be what you think, Detective–"

"Just Michael. I'm on leave from the force. Personal issues, yeah?"

"Understandable." Tony hesitates. "I can see why you're trying to be kind. I didn't intend to kill your brother. _Michael._" Even Michael's name is hard to force out, and Michael's alive. Kevin's dead. Kevin's never coming back. Tony swallows hard, his throat dry. "I made the suit that killed him. I didn't keep it sealed away. I'm the one designed the Aero-tank. I should have made the fuel tanks smaller, less volatile. Intentions aside, I fired the shot that caused the Aero-tank to explode and kill your brother. You have every right to be angry at me."

Michael steps back a pace, leaning casually against the table. "Kevin knew you were Iron Man too, didn't he?"

Tony jerks a look automatically at the door, knowing they're alone in the room, but unable to shake the idea that he really doesn't want anyone overhearing that. He nods cautiously at Michael. "He did."

At Tony's confirmation, Michael nods too. "I know my brother, Mr. Stark. I'm sure the moment he knew you were Iron Man, he'll have been desperate to join in." Michael smiles, some memory warming his face. "Believe me, if you hadn't tried building an armor for him, he'd have been begging for one. Tell me you could have said no to his face? Once he got something in his head?"

Tony wants to deny it. He'd built the Guardsman armor before Kevin said anything, but that was partly because he'd anticipated Kevin wanting one too. The two of them had been so interested in the same thing, the same kinds of scientific applications, the same desire to positively shape and guide the future into something grander and safer for everyone... Yeah, Tony knew Kevin would ask him for a suit of armor for himself. It was inevitable.

Still, the Guardsman armor hadn't been ready when Kevin took it. It hadn't been tested. Tony should have also predicted that Kevin would try and wear it anyway. He should have locked it away until it was _safe_. Instead, Kevin saw Tony in danger, and he put on the unfinished Guardsman Armor and Tony hadn't realized it was killing Kevin until he'd taken that last, fatal shot to stop him. He meant to just disable Kevin, but his blast accidentally hit one of the Aero-tank's fuel tanks and Kevin didn't stand a chance.

"Also," Michael continues, when it becomes clear Tony's going deep into his own mind and self-loathing, "you forget I'm his older brother. I never found a lock my little brother couldn't get through. So if you think you could have designed a system to keep that Armor from him, finished or not, think again. You're a genius but I promise you, you're not _that_ smart."

"Kevin was," Tony says, almost unthinkingly, thinking of the stun ray Kevin built, the incident that drew Tony's attention to Kevin O'Brien in the first place. It's possibly the first time he's said Kevin's name out loud since his death. Kevin's name tastes bitter in his mouth. Like blood.

"Yeah, Kevin was," Michael says. "So for _him_ to miss a problem with the Armor before he put it on... it's got to be a tough one."

"It was the cybernetic circuits," Tony says. "As far as I can tell, both with you and– with your brother. Something in it stimulates the wrong section of the wearer's brain."

"Yeah, that was a head rush. I've never been so angry before," Michael says, "and I hope you understand the impact of that when I explain that I was on duty when the Towers fell."

Tony swallows, hard, because he kind of blames himself a little for that, too. If he hadn't had his head so far up his own ass, if he'd had his own kind of rebirth, the one that bore Iron Man's existence... if that had been just a couple of years earlier... _What if_ is a poison, one Tony's always going to swallow in every quiet moment for the rest of his life, one there's no antidote for.

"The Iron Man suit didn't scramble my head like that, though," Michael says.

"You didn't have it on long enough, I think," Tony says. "The cybernetics work differently in_ Iron Man._ I've had years to calibrate them to my brain waves." He smiles humorlessly. "From what I can tell, what I was able to work on, the Guardsman armor fault affects you quickly, but you can come back from it. If you wore the _Iron Man_ armor for an extended amount of time, and I didn't calibrate it to you... it could be permanent damage. The Guardsman armor works with a different interface, and _shouldn't_ have caused anyone any problem. It shouldn't require calibration. But the problem with the Guardsman is it wasn't finished when your brother took it, and I never had the time to finish it before– before it was too late."

"My point I'm trying to make is that, with time, you _can_ make an armor that _doesn't _play havoc with your noggin." Michael crosses his arms over his chest and stares coolly at Tony. "I know all that I owe you is an apology for causing you so much trouble. And you don't owe me a damn thing. But I'm asking you anyway." And here it is, what Tony expected Michael to ask. "I want the Guardsman Armor, Mr. Stark. The finished one. I want to do what Kevin would have wanted to do. I want to be the Guardsman. I haven't got any right to ask you, but I'm asking anyway. Please." He holds Tony's gaze firmly.

"I do owe you—" Tony starts.

"Bullcrap and bullshit and all kinds of whatever else gross stuff that comes out of cows," Michael interrupts. Startled, Tony quietens. "Kevin used to talk about you non-stop, y'know? Iron Man _this_ and Tony Stark _that_ and now I know you _are _Iron Man, well, I guess the hero-worship really makes sense to me. He told me about your heart problems, and I've seen it, personally _seen_ you go out and risk your life to save others even at risk of a massive heart rupture. You're a hero, Stark. An actual, real hero. And no one knows? That's all kind of bullshit too. But I get why you do it. Tony Stark's too high profile. People knew you were Iron Man, there'd be a mess. You'd never get to do your job."

"So you'll keep my secret?" Tony asks, uncomfortable at the undeserved praise. "No one can know Iron Man and Tony Stark are the same person." He thinks about Kevin again, and has to glance at the floor briefly, to check he's still standing. Thinking about Kevin makes the floor feel unsteady.

Michael nods. "I promise to keep your identity secret. I'll keep that oath to the day I die, Mr. Stark."

Tony shudders, despite his attempts to stay in control of his emotions. Michael softens at the genuineness of Tony's reaction.

"I don't plan to die any time soon," Michael continues. "I just wanted you to know that what Iron Man does, that's important to me. It was important to Kevin. I promise to keep your identity secret, no matter what you decide."

"Decide?"

"About the Guardsman armor," Michael says.

Tony stares at Michael. He kind of wants to ask the man if he's serious about this, but Michael's been alone in this room for days now, waiting for Tony to get back. And Tony knows his answer. Tony's going to fix the Guardsman armor, so Michael can fight without the madness taking hold. Michael wants to protect people in Kevin's place. In Kevin's name. But fixing the fatal flaw of the armor's going to take time.

"Kevin used to have that look on his face too, when he'd realized it was useless to resist me," Michael says, and he straightens again, crossing the room and extending a hand to Tony. "It's pretty damn tough to say no to an O'Brien boy, didn't you know that?"

Tony holds stern for a second, but he's not kidding anyone, and he reaches out and grips Michael's hand, accepting the handshake and meeting Michael's firm gaze. There's a lot of Kevin in Michael's face, but there's a grim stubbornness too, and a calm and steady demeanor beneath everything. This is the path Michael's going to follow no matter what Tony says.

"There are conditions," Tony warns as he pulls back from the handshake.

"I'm ready for that," Michael says.

"No wearing the Armor until I say it's ready. Not if a supervillain is there and no Avenger is onsite. Not even if the Apocalypse is threatening. Not even if you're about to see a kitten squashed by Thor's hammer."

"Agreed," Michael says, promptly.

"As Guardsman, you'll maintain a secret identity. If you decide not to stay in the force, you'll accept a stipend from Stark International. No arguments."

Michael looks like he wants to argue, but he sags and says, "Sure."

"I'm going to ask the Avengers if they'll train you. That doesn't mean they'll extend you a guaranteed invitation to join the squad, nor does it mean you'll be obliged to say yes if they do."

"Will that include sparring with Iron Man?" Michael asks, somewhat eagerly.

Tony grins. "Pretty sure I can arrange that. I also have some exoskeleton training gear that you can use in the interim to get used to the mechanical joints of my armors. No cybernetic interface, so there's less danger, but they can be fairly—" Tony thinks of all the bruises he gets from his training rig before he finishes his sentence with, "—_bruising_."

"Sounds like fun," Michael says. And Michael and Kevin aren't identical twins, but they're similar enough that Tony can decipher that expression immediately: excited honesty. Michael's genuinely looking forward to all of it. Huh.

"Of course my identity must also remain secret. The Avengers don't know Iron Man has a severe heart condition." Tony wrinkles his face. "I'm sure if they found out, I might not get to be an Avenger myself, and I—"

"—am a crazy sonofabitch who would rather face imminent death than take it safe and sit on the sidelines?" Michael finishes, when Tony's pause becomes awkward. "Yeah, you and Kevin were more alike than you think."

Tony glares, but can't be too angry at that. He feels a little warm at the idea that he can carry a little of Kevin's character into the world, on his friend's behalf.

"And any of the Avengers' identities that are secret, if you discover them while here," Tony says, "you keep those secret as well. There's an awful lot of people out there who want to hurt us."

"You're telling me," Michael says, having only recently been mistakenly abducted by the Mandarin. Michael had been wearing the Iron Man suit at the time, it was an easy mistake. Tony saving his life—and revealing his identity to Michael to do so—just cemented Michael's certainty that Tony is a hero, and an unwilling participant in his brother's death.

"Of course, this all depends on the Avengers also agreeing to help train you. And that they're okay with keeping you here. I'm pretty sure they'll agree, but we'd best go and see them and make sure, don't you think?"

Michael nods, and then, when he sees Tony start to move, he facevaults. "Now? Me? Meet the Avengers? _Now_?" Michael suddenly sweeps his hands over his rumpled button-down shirt and creased slacks.

Tony smirks at his sudden self-consciousness. "Unless you have something better to do?"

"No sir," Michael breathes. He edges a look at Tony. "Is it true Captain America smells like apple pie at all times?"

Tony laughs a little, remembering the smell of the gym after Steve's been working up a rare sweat, and while the Captain America apple pie urban legend is funny, it's not true. Still, Tony says, "He also smells like freedom," because it would have made Kevin smile, and it makes Michael smile too. Maybe Kevin's not as entirely gone as Tony thought.

* * *

Michael actually makes a soft noise of glee under his breath as they walk together into the kitchen, and Tony feels horrible that he never managed to get Kevin to the mansion while the Avengers were around. Kevin would have _loved_ to meet the Avengers. Kevin was quite the badass himself. They'd have gotten on really well.

Tony swallows back his regrets and grief and manages a weary but professional smile and nod of greeting at the assembled superheroes, and Tony does an automatic headcount. Steve's there, of course. His uniform is on, but it looks a little tattered at the edges. Tony recalls reading the summary of Steve's recent solo escapades, and resists the urge to wince—some freak had made a giant robot version of Captain America, named it the Ameridroid, and the resulting fight had nearly gotten Steve killed. _Ha,_ Tony thinks, _must have been a day of the week that ended in Y._ It seemed like mortal trouble was the only kind of trouble that was going around recently.

The Wasp is also there—Jan Van Dyne—looking lovely as usual in her black and yellow uniform, her brown hair curled in a soft bob, warmly framing her cute face. She seemed to be engaged in discussion with Simon Williams—aka Wonder Man—about camera settings and lighting. That made some sort of sense. Jan's civilian work as a fashion designer involved a lot of photoshoots, and even with his wide spectrum of superpowers, Simon can't let go of his wish to be a famous model or actor. It's nice _some_ of them have everyday hopes and goals.

Hank McCoy—Beast—is the only other Avenger there, wearing very little, scratching his blue furry behind with a breakfast knife and raising an eyebrow when he catches Tony looking at him, like he's daring Tony to persuade him to desist. Tony just rolls his eyes and Hank grins.

Tony glances to his side to see how Michael's handling things. To his credit, Michael's still standing. He looks a little dazed. Mostly by Captain America. Tony empathizes, thoroughly. Sometimes it's difficult _not_ to be dazzled by Steve Rogers.

"Tony, you're back!" Jan says with a smile when she notices him, rising from her seat and quickly crossing the floor. She presses a kiss onto his cheek and Tony offers her a fleeting smile. "We saw your meetings overseas went well. Nicely done embarrassing a villain without even needing an Avenger's help!"

Tony nods, even as Michael shoots him a slightly questioning look. Tony quirks an eyebrow back at him and Michael nods in understanding, realizing that _overseas meetings_ must be the only cover Tony has for disguising Iron Man's global escapades.

"Ah, I was wondering when our new housemate was going to show his face," Steve says, getting to his feet politely. Even with half of his face obscured with his Captain America mask, his expression is warm and open.

"This is Detective Michael O'Brien," Tony introduces, with a nod at Michael. "Unfortunately his brother died recently, caught up in one of Iron Man's enemy attacks, so he's going to be staying with us for a while, if no one has any objections?"

"I'm obliged for the kindness," Michael says, when there's a general murmur of agreement.

Steve is the first to speak, of course, always unconsciously leading the team even on their downtime. He extends a hand of welcome to Michael. "Sorry for your recent loss," he says, and it's obvious he means it. Michael nods at that. Steve pauses, then says, head tilted, "Irish?"

"Yessir," Michael says. "And yourself?"

"My parents," Steve says, straightening again. "Good ear." He smiles and shakes Michael's hand firmly. "I'm Captain America."

"Michael O'Brien," Michael says, in a remarkably even tone, considering that he's face-to-face with a room full of superheroes. "The Detective part is on hold for the moment."

"How much has Mr. Stark told you about your new housemates?" Steve asks.

"Uh," Michael says, and Steve shoots Tony a look, more soft exasperation than real chastisement. Tony pulls an apologetic face. He's been a bit busy, blowing up a castle and escaping Frankenstein's Monster and holy crap his life is _weird_.

"I'm sure you'll have seen most of us around at some point," Steve says wryly, putting a kind hand on Michael's shoulder and leading him further into the kitchen. "This is the Wasp."

"Nice to meet you," Jan says, beaming at Michael and holding her hand out for a handshake; Michael flusters and kisses her on the hand instead, making Jan's smile widen.

"Pleasure's all mine," Michael says, immediately smitten.

"Our roster is a little short at the moment," Steve says. "It's been a busy spell, to say the least. Vision and the Scarlet Witch are taking a little vacation time. The Black Panther has returned to his home country for personal business."

"I'm here, though," Simon says, and waves at Michael, not getting up. "Wonder Man. Hey there."

"Hello," Michael says.

"This is Henry McCoy," Steve says, gesturing at Hank, who's lounging against the sink, looking like he's trying to scrub something out of his blue fur. "You probably know him as the Beast."

"Hank is fine, Detective," Hank says, pausing from his scrubbing to throw Michael a lazy salute.

"Michael," Michael says. "I've taken an extended leave of absence from the police." He looks over at Tony. "Probably gonna work in the private sector, once things are up and running, eh?"

Ah, Tony thinks. Michael did have a lot of time to think before Tony's return to the mansion. He doesn't intend to join the Avengers. Kevin wouldn't have wanted to either, Tony thinks.

"Things?" Steve says, leaving the word loaded, arching a questioning eyebrow at Tony.

"I'll update you," Tony says, "if the others wouldn't mind getting Michael settled in?"

"Of course we wouldn't," Jan says, moving over to Michael and taking his arm. "Have you eaten yet today?"

"No ma'am," Michael murmurs, which just makes Jan laugh and coo over his politeness.

Tony claps Michael warmly on the shoulder as he turns to leave, and walks out to the hallway, just assuming Steve will follow. He can see the comforting and familiar blue shape of Captain America out of the corner of his eye, so he walks into one of the small reception rooms, sitting gingerly down on one of the sofas.

"Thank you for welcoming Michael like that, Cap," Tony says. Steve doesn't sit down on a regular piece of furniture, instead balancing on a table. That's somewhat normal for their daytime interactions. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you more of a head's up."

"Jarvis told me enough, don't worry. Apparently it was a little disconcerting expecting Iron Man to come out of the quinjet and finding a rattled Irishman inside ranting about how heroic Iron Man is," Steve says. "Rattled me for a while too, until Jarvis passed on a better summary of events."

Tony winces. "Yeah, Iron Man's got quite a debriefing for you when he gets in."

"Will that be soon?"

Tony weighs up how much he wants—_needs—_to sleep for a week, and the keenness on Captain America's face to see his teammate is okay, and, as usual, sleep loses out. "I'll make sure he drops by as soon as he's up to it. It's been a rough week. Would you believe he was caught by Frankenstein's Monster?"

Steve barks out a sharp sound that's almost like a laugh, but not quite. "Honestly, yes," he says, and smiles ruefully. "Just last week I had my butt severely handed to me by a giant replica of myself. I'm beyond getting surprised by this decade."

Much like Steve's laugh, Tony's smile isn't one of humor. "I keep saying that, but then I–" and yep, Tony definitely needs some good sleeping time, and some decent suit recharging, because he's had a handful of not-quite-heart-attacks in the span of two weeks, and that slip nearly makes him wince. "_Iron Man_'s reports cross my desk and then I have to keep moving the boundaries of sanity a little further away every page."

At least Steve's wry chuckle at that comment sounds a little more amused.

"Don't worry about O'Brien," Steve says. "We'll take good care of him."

Tony nods, not needing anything more than that—there's nothing stronger than the word of Captain America. Then he focuses on giving as brief a summary of his last couple of weeks as possible, noting the parts that Steve will best need to know. Steve's face is somber as Tony explains about the protesters that Kevin accidentally killed while in the Guardsman armor, and how Iron Man had no choice but to try and subdue Kevin, but the attempt had turned sadly fatal. Steve's expression shifts to concern as Tony tells him how Michael had taken the Guardsman armor and been sadly caught up in the suit's flaw as well, his anger turning deadly. Steve straightens attentively as Tony explains how Michael ended up wearing Iron Man's armor, but was kidnapped in Iron Man's place, and Iron Man bravely rescued him. Of course, Tony alters events a little, but makes sure Steve knows the current threat level.

Steve briefly in return gives a small summary of events at the mansion, and Tony's stomach sinks at the description of the event he missed. The Grim Reaper, coming after Wonder Man and Vision, trying to avenge his brother's memory. It feels horribly familiar to Tony's last couple of weeks.

Tony can't give Steve a full summary of everything that's happened to him, because some events _Tony Stark_ wouldn't have the information about, so he promises again that Iron Man will fill him in, and then yawns, loudly, before he can help himself.

"Sounds like you've had quite the week too," Steve says, stepping away from the table and moving over to the sofa, arm stretched like he's considering helping Tony up. Tony abruptly stands. He has the full chestplate on. He can't risk anyone getting close to him, lest they discover it and realize the Ultra-Rejuvenator failed and Tony's heart is weak again.

"Not quite as rough a week in the boardroom as fighting a giant android, or being put on trial by someone who thinks they're the personification of death," Tony says, ruefully scratching the back of his head.

"I'm sure thinking your company had been usurped by a supervillain will have _felt_ apocalyptic," Steve jokes. He looks wearier than he sounds, though, and Tony knows how that feels. "I'll probably be in the library for a while, if you can let Iron Man know?"

Tony nods, promises that he will, and flees the small room before he can say something stupid.

Like _Iron Man already knows, because I am Iron Man. Haha, isn't that wacky?_

Tony shakes that thought away. Knowing who Iron Man really is is dangerous. It gets people hurt. Happy's been caught in the crossfire. Kevin… fatally so. Tony's scared enough for Michael.

Tony's starting to think that people knowing Iron Man's identity is a curse. He hopes for Michael's sake that he's wrong.

* * *

As much as Tony would like to give in to the urge to sleep, he has a lot of work to do. Forms to sign, e-mails to respond to, phone calls to respond. _Stark International _doesn't stop running just because its CEO has been almost kidnapped by the Mandarin and then actually kidnapped by Dreadknight. There's no way Tony can catch up on over a week's missed work, especially considering all the extra paperwork from global companies they trade with who still don't know that _Stark International_ hasn't been renamed. He can't catch up but he can prioritize, and he does the stuff that will stop his company from burning to the ground by morning. The rest can wait.

Tony stretches awkwardly, his body aching in places he hadn't known existed _to_ ache, and there's a pressure behind his eyes that means he really should sleep, but instead, he clenches his hands in the right way to activate the Mark IV Iron Man suit, making a mental note to start a new suit for himself immediately. The missing older suits are still causing him some major concern, but Agent Sitwell is on that problem, and Tony can't single-handedly do everything on his own. He has to delegate _something_. Still, he promised Steve that Iron Man would give him an update, and Tony can't break a promise to Captain America.

The library is on the first floor, whereas Tony's workshop, bedroom and rarely-used office are on the second floor, along with the Avengers' bedrooms and the common room which gets used as a den or a study depending on the current line-up of Avengers. Unfortunately Tony doesn't know where all the Avengers are, so he goes the long way to get to the library, using the secret staircase in his workshop to descend to the sub-basement. The staircase bypasses sub-basement level one, but has exits into the second and third sub-basements. Tony exits at sub-basement two, sliding out from behind a portrait of Dr. Isaac Stark Snr., before heading up to elevator B, which takes him directly into the library.

As he predicted, Steve is sitting at his favorite window, a pile of paperwork in his hands. He doesn't rise from his seat when he sees Tony enter, but he does shoot him—well, Iron Man—a warm smile, and Tony waves and walks over the plush carpet to join him, the solid feet of the armor denting the carpet fibers.

There's one question on Tony's mind that Tony Stark isn't really allowed to ask, but Iron Man can get away with. He begins with it, because he's too tired for small talk, and Steve's obvious weariness is enough of an answer that Tony doesn't need to open with _how are you?_

"Any luck locating the Falcon?" Tony asks as he sits in the seat opposite from Steve. Steve stands for Tony Stark, but he sits for Iron Man, and that—at least—is enough for Tony. Iron Man's the only decent thing about Tony Stark, after all.

Steve's shoulders hunch and that's enough of an answer to Tony's question. "I've heard that you've been having an interesting time," Steve says instead of responding to the question.

"Have I ever," Tony says, and tries to summarize his last few adventures without all of the sort-of-heart-attacks to spoil it. And by spoil, he means reveal to the Avengers how bad his heart condition is, and how precarious it is for him to be in the suit for any real length of time, and how unsuitable he is as a hero at all.

Steve in return gives him a brief rundown of events in the time since Iron Man's last appearance at the mansion, in _way_ more detail than Tony Stark received, and Tony is almost glad he's been so wrapped up in the Guardsman issues, the Mandarin and Dreadknight.

"Wow," Tony says at the end of it.

"_Wow_ just about covers it," Steve agrees amicably. His soft smile fades a little into something more serious. "How's your boss taking it? I thought Kevin O'Brien was his friend. It can't be easy being blamed like that."

"Michael was just doing what he thought was right," Tony defends, immediately. Then he sags in his seat. "My boss is holding up okay, I guess. As best as he can in the circumstances, I mean."

"Tell him I'm here, if he needs a friendly ear," Steve says.

"I'll be sure to pass that on," Tony says. At least this time when he yawns he can feel it coming in time enough to make sure his speaker is muted, so Steve can't hear it.

"It also sounds like there hasn't been much time for rest on your schedule," Steve says, admonishingly. "Tony works you too hard."

Tony glares at him, the Iron Man mask hiding the expression. "Stark asks for nothing from me he wouldn't ask from himself."

"I wasn't criticizing our sponsor," Steve says. "Well. I guess I was. Tony Stark works himself too hard, too."

Tony grunts. Steve's probably not wrong. "Maybe you can convince him to let me guard him all the way to a tropical island for a week or two," Tony suggests. Then he thinks about it. "But then the Mandarin will probably try to kidnap me again," he adds, dolefully. "I'd say a staycation might be safer, but apparently even the mansion isn't hallowed ground for villains anymore."

Steve's mouth wobbles, then squints at Tony. "Staycation?"

"Instead of a vacation, but you _stay _home. I thought it was a forties term."

"I must have missed it," Steve says.

"I suppose there wasn't a lot of room for popular culture in Hydra trenches."

"Not exactly."

Tony beams at Steve's deadpan tone. "Boss was wondering if Michael O'Brien could train with the Avengers sometime. I mean, maybe not when Thor's around, and not any of the main drills. But some of the stamina and footwork stuff, some strategy. That would be helpful."

Steve looks briefly confused. "Of course, anything we can do to help Tony is fine. Can I ask if there's a particular reason? Obviously, if it's classified, it's classified, but knowing what the aims are for his training could help me target it more personally?"

"Oh," Tony says. Sometimes he's so busy planning twenty steps ahead that he forgets some parts have happened only in his head. "Well, it's the Guardsman armor. Stark is confident that given time to actually finish it, then it can be operated safely. The previous occupant wore it when it wasn't ready. But Michael has made a request to be the one to operate the Guardsman when it is finished, in his brother's memory."

Steve nods coolly. "I can understand that. You wear one of Tony Stark's armors, did it ever affect you like the unfinished Guardsman armor affected the O'Brien brothers?"

Tony had covered why the Guardsman armor had failed Kevin, and caused Michael's wrath to balloon out of control, so Steve knows it was just a matter of the flaw being undiscovered because testing hadn't been completed. "Some headaches early on," Tony admits. "But once Stark finished the calibration and matched it exactly to my brainwaves, nothing. I regularly monitor my brainwaves and patterns, as much as possible, and nothing on the lines of what the O'Briens experienced happened to me."

"Good, good," Steve says. "Well, I had some guidelines for your Avengers training, should you ever turn up without the suit on." Steve winks at him, knowing it's a long-lost battle. "Shouldn't be difficult to adjust to someone already in good physical condition."

"Hey, _I_ was in good physical condition when I started this job," Tony snipes. It's somewhat true. Apart from the bad heart.

"I wouldn't know," Steve says. "Back when we were developing the training routines, there were still the rumors going around."

"Rumors?"

"That your boss was Iron Man."

Tony's face freezes, thank-fucking-goodness for masks. "I didn't mind those rumors so much," he lies. "It's weird that people are more likely to give free stuff to people who are already rich. I'm a fan of free stuff."

"That is weird," Steve agrees.

"Wait, you thought my boss would need it easy?" Tony snickers lightly, the modulator turning it into a weird buzzing noise. "He's kinda buff under all those suits."

Steve glances at him oddly. "Huh. I guess I just figured with the heart condition and his work schedule that he probably wouldn't be at the same level of, say, a New York detective who spends hours on the streets. Still, it's a moot point, I guess I just didn't think about it much."

It shouldn't be a surprise, but Tony is a little disconsolate at the idea that Steve thought he was physically weak. Or maybe he's just sad because it seems like Steve doesn't think of Tony much at all. "I'll let my boss know you're okay with O'Brien joining your training," Tony says, pulling his thoughts back on topic and trying to ignore his personal pride has taken a small dint. "If there's nothing else, I'll retire for the day."

"Of course," Steve says. "Thanks for the update, Shellhead."

"No problem," Tony says, and heads out to the hallway, disappearing into the nearest hidden passageway that he can. He heads down the gap in the walls quickly, moving directly to his bedroom, collapsing the suit and flopping back onto his bed, not even taking his clothes off first.

He's sound asleep by the time he hits the pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

_I invite defiance, and to make myself superseded,_

_All I have done, I would cheerfully give to be trod_

_under foot_

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

It's not often that Tony gets anything resembling downtime, and it's been a hectic few months, but that's still no excuse that this is the first time Tony's been able to visit Kevin's gravestone as himself.

Tony had attended Kevin's funeral as Iron Man, unable to face Kevin's father as himself, but then he'd had to miss most of it in favor of trying not to be arrested, and since then his life has been a roller coaster of disaster after disaster.

Although he has work to do that, written down, has an eye-wateringly large word count, Tony _makes_ the time to go see Kevin, putting aside a meeting with a senator that Krissy tuts at him down the phone for rescheduling, and also delaying some Iron Man armor maintenance that will mean he probably won't have much time to sleep for another couple of nights. Sleep and ruffled egos are the least of his problems right now. Tony quietly books a car service to take him to a florist, and then he dismisses the confused driver once he reaches the main gates. The walk back to the office will clear his head.

Kevin's gravestone is in a quiet part of the graveyard. The grass around it is well maintained. Tony makes regular donations to the city to ensure the whole place gets the maintenance it needs. It's the least Kevin deserves. The very goddamned least. What Kevin really deserves is to be alive and happy and thriving and Tony deserves to be the one six feet under. Tony stares at Kevin's name, engraved in neat capital letters, and the dates below, much closer together than they ever should have been.

Tony's unaware that his hands are clenching into automatic self-loathing fists until the flowers in his right hand make a loud crinkling sound of protest—Tony's fist shredding into the paper and plastic holding them together. Tony relaxes his hand but it's too late, and the stems of the white roses are already bent. Tony fusses over them, trying to straighten them as he puts them in the vase embedded in the ground to the side of the stone, but they remain skewed. Broken. Like everything Tony touches. Some of the petals detach as Tony stares and when he bends down to pick them up and sweep them out of the way, to keep Kevin's space clean, his joints fail at once and he trembles in a brief heap, his head bowed.

This is horseshit. Kevin shouldn't be dead. Michael was right to blame him. Michael should have obliterated Tony when he had the chance, instead of pulling back when he realized Tony's motivations were good. But what good are well-intentioned motivations when they just get good people killed? Tony's hands are wet, and he thinks maybe it's raining, and that would be okay with him, but no, he's just crying. Tony scowls at his own weakness and fumbles in his pocket for a handkerchief, roughly drying his eyes and getting to his feet, because Tony Stark can't be seen sobbing in public. Not again. The only thing he's good for now is keeping his company going, keeping his thousands of remaining employees alive and employed. Keeping them safe when he couldn't for Kevin. Crying in public will dilute his public image, affect his share price, negatively affect his company, and he can't afford that happening, not with the recent interference from Midas already denting the company's net value.

Tony almost thinks he's gotten away with it, and he has to fight hard to stop the sob of pure shame and disappointment that wants to escape because his weakness has had a witness to it—because he's not alone in the graveyard.

Tony doesn't exactly know how to react when he realizes just who it is in the graveyard with him. He doesn't often see Captain America in civilian clothes during the day time. That sort of sight is usually saved for when Tony's late nights collide with Steve's early mornings. Tony is one of the few people in the world who are privileged to know Captain America's real identity, so he's seen Steve in soft-looking leisurewear around the mansion, and a few times in jeans and flannel and a jacket as he takes in modern New York. This Steve is a different Steve, a suit covered by a neat brown trench coat, hair slicked back with pomade. His fingertips are slightly green, and there's a little dried grass on his knees. Oh, Tony realizes. Steve's been visiting someone here too. For a moment Steve's gaze catches his and holds, and there's a deep understanding in his eyes. Grief is a universal language.

"One of my old teammates is buried here," Steve says, answering the unasked question of why he's all the way out at Long Island with a nod back at an older section of the graveyard, skipping out on conversational banalities like _hello _and _how are you_.

Tony nods jerkily, not trusting himself to speak for a moment, and then he croaks out, "Same, I guess." As if teammate really covers Kevin. He swallows. "It's, uh—" He gestures awkwardly at the gravestone and cautiously, like Tony might blow away if Steve moves too quickly, Steve draws up alongside Tony.

"Oh," Steve says quietly in realization. "Michael's brother."

Tony nods, shoving his hands in his pockets because they feel clumsy just hanging there at his side. "Yeah. He says he doesn't blame me anymore for the— incident. But—" He shrugs uselessly, staring at Kevin's name again. He needs to say Kevin's name out loud, even if it hurts. Maybe _especially_ because it hurts, a dark voice whispers in the back of Tony's mind.

"Accident," Steve says, and his voice is almost too gentle for Tony to bear. "It was an accident. Unless you intended the Armor to scramble his brain."

Tony smiles humorlessly. "Michael thought I did. I was dating the girl Kevin was crushing on. Kevin walked in as I proposed to her, actually."

Steve makes a soft sound. "You're getting married? That's—that's nice." Steve doesn't sound too sure, like nice might not be the word he's thinking of.

"Oh, I'm not."

"I'm sorry."

"Marianne was psychic, as it turns out. Had some stunning vision apparently that if she stayed with me, I would die." Tony huffs. "Then she decided she had to be the one to kill me, so I had her committed. Not the weirdest break-up I've ever had." That's an understatement. It's not even the hardest break-up, either, if he ignores the memory of Marianne walking away from him as he lay on the ground, actually moments away from death. If he hadn't gotten to the charging cable in time... Well. Maybe that wasn't such a good thing that he had. Maybe his gravestone would be somewhere in this cemetery; he supposes money would overcome any protests of an atheist being buried on blessed ground.

"My first ever girlfriend was a Nazi," Steve offers. "I don't think I can judge."

Tony barks out a laugh and then swallows hard, feeling instantly guilty for finding anything funny after Kevin's death. After causing Kevin's death. Unintentional or otherwise, Tony will always carry the guilt of his actions. All he'd thought of at the time had been how much fun it was to be Iron Man, and how much fun Kevin would have had to fight alongside him.

"Thanks for the pep talk, Captain," Tony says.

"Steve," Steve corrects. When Tony shoots him a surprised look, Steve's smile is crooked. "I'm not in the uniform."

Tony nods. "Then thanks, _Steve_."

Steve's mouth quirks just a little bit, a small honest smile. Big smiles aren't for graveyards. Then Steve's smile falters and he says, "Oh. Oh, no."

"I officially don't like it when Captain America says _oh no_," Tony says warily, "even if he's in Steve mode."

Steve mouths _Steve mode_ for a second like it's strange and whoops, that's Tony's mistake, most superheroes probably don't really go around thinking of themselves as someone different from their civilian identities. "No, it's just… I just remembered fighting the Guardsman a while ago. Was that Kevin?" At Tony's nod, Steve shuffles awkwardly. "Uh. I'm sorry I punched your friend in the face?"

"Don't feel bad, he never shut up about it. Nearly every day at work, _ha, remember when Captain America punched me in the face?_ I honestly think he thought it was one of the greatest moments of his life," Tony says, and then almost seizes up, because his own words sink in. Kevin didn't get any more moments to choose from.

"Iron Man said you're trying to fix the Armor? The Guardsman Armor, I mean," Steve clarifies, probably to kill the awkward silence that was threatening to fester.

Unsure where the conversation is going, Tony nods again, cautiously. "Michael wore it for a short time and it seemed to affect him the same way as it did K— his brother," Tony explains, unable to say Kevin's name a third time and hating himself for it. "Something in the assistive subroutines clashes badly with some personality types." He wrinkles his mouth, thinking a hundred things at once about brain waves and hormones and chemical imbalances.

"But Iron Man reported that he temporarily wore the Guardsman Armor and suffered no ill effects."

Tony makes a noncommittal noise. "It may have been the short amount of time he wore it," Tony admits, because he doesn't know for sure. He just has a theory. Tony may not be the most mentally healthy person in the world but he is acutely aware of all his faults. The Guardsman subroutines probably malfunctioned by picking up on subconscious unstable emotional states. Kevin's jealousy was amplified and twisted. Michael's anger and wrath the same. Tony can't say he doesn't have flaws—hell he has more of them than both of the O'Brien brothers combined—but he's keenly aware of each and every one of them.

"I'll keep an eye on Iron Man in the field. Make sure there's no lingering aftereffects of wearing the compromised suit." Steve says.

"Appreciate it," Tony says. "If you could keep an eye on Michael too when I'm not around."

"Of course," Steve says.

"Michael's pretty set on being the Guardsman formally. I hope I can fix the suit so he can be."

"I'm sure you can," Steve says, beaming at Tony confidently. "You're a genius."

Tony squints at Steve skeptically. "Just because I'm funding the Avengers, doesn't mean you have to butter me up."

Steve's mouth goes slack for a second, like he's genuinely shocked by the accusation. "I would never," he says. "Besides... accusing Captain America of lying? That's a bold move."

Tony's mouth moves silently for a second. Then, indignantly, he says, "Well, you're not in the uniform. _Steve_."

"I'm just stating a fact," Steve says, in a firm no-nonsense tone that screams Captain America. "I'm headed back to the mansion in a few minutes, if you'd like some company?"

The offer is tempting, even if it means taking a train.

"I still have some work at the office to take care of," Tony explains. "It's not far from here."

Steve nods. "I'll just be over there if you change your mind," he says.

Tony mutters something noncommittal, and Steve takes it for what it is, walking away to a distant section of the graveyard. Tony edges a glance out of the corner of his eye, at Steve's neat hairstyle, and his squared shoulders, and the curve of his bowed head. Tony's pathetic. That's what he is. A cocktail of flaws that tastes like failure. Steve's lost so many people over the year, hundreds of men under his command, everyone he's ever known... and Tony's a pathetic mess over a handful. His eyes sting and his knees feel weak, and Tony has to grit his teeth. He turns his head firmly away from Steve's direction, shoves his hands in his pocket, and starts back off towards _Stark International_. He pushes down on the urge to turn back, to take Steve up on his offer, to go _home_ to familiar walls and comfort instead of to the hours of hard work he should be doing. But that's what someone weak would do, and Tony can't show the world he's weak.

Even if he is.

* * *

Usually when it's around 5pm and everyone is crushing the streets to get home, Tony doesn't attract too much attention, especially if he's wearing what everyone is. Which he is today, because he's had about thirty million meetings this morning. With his dark coat and dark suit, he only gets vague glances of recognition from passersby who happen to glance his way, but without bodyguards and sunglasses, Tony can almost achieve anonymity.

Still, today, he can't shake the feeling someone is watching him. Tony sighs. The graveyard to _Stark International _is only a five-minute walk, and he's only got two minutes left to go, so of course his return back to work can't be easy, Tony doesn't know why he was expecting it to be.

"Hey, Tony Stark," a voice calls.

Several people turn to look in Tony's direction then, and Tony inwardly curses. So much for anonymity. The streets are bustling, but people move apart like something's pushing them, and it turns out it's a _someone_, not a something.

Tony stares at the strange figure who stands a few feet away from him. He's seen some odd things in his time as Iron Man, but this person's costume is plain _weird_. Some sort of blue spandex covers the man's main body, with a red and gold tabard and belt, gold boots, and a mask that covers the right half of the man's face.

"I had a meeting with you," the stranger calls across. His voice sounds young. "But you were away. Overseas."

"Sorry about that," Tony says, tersely. "If you put a call into SI, ask for Krissy Longfellow, tell her you need a priority session in my rescheduling—"

"But you're free now, and I just need a second," the stranger insists. He strikes a pose, hands akimbo, boots set wide apart. "I'm Jack, the Jack of Hearts, you used to work with my father, and I—"

"—am making me late for my work," Tony cuts in, and starts to try to move, pushing through the openly staring pedestrians huddling around them in a crowd. He sighs and wishes he was in the Iron Man suit, not his work suit. "Reschedule that meeting, Mr. Of Hearts," he calls back.

Tony has to double around, get to headquarters the back way. Maybe through the underground garage. There's a manhole cover two streets away that will get him there. Tony knows all the back ways to and from his headquarters.

"Hey!" Jack of Hearts protests, realizing Tony is basically running away from him. "I just wanted to ask—_Hey, _come on people, I'm a superhero-in-training, you gotta—"

Tony resists the urge to facepalm and he ducks into the lobby of a nearby building, some private flats he thought about buying out for his employees, but the lease is tied up for a good ten years. Maybe then Tony will buy this place, attract some engineers who want to move to the city with their families and not have to sell a kidney or three to afford it.

The lobby is bustling—it's an office of some sort, maybe advertising, and it's filled with young executives all milling around, chatting and getting ready to leave. Tony ducks in behind one group of workers, then hides behind another and follows them out through a different set of doors. He catches a glimpse of red, gold, and blue in the metalwork of the door frames and he lowers his head.

"Hey," a young woman says next to him, warm brown eyes widening in surprise, "aren't you Tony Stark?"

Tony flashes her a weak smile. "For my sins," he tells her, and drops off into the alley before she can say anything else. He flashes her a wink and moves quickly behind a large wheeled bin.

"Did you just say Tony Stark?" Tony hears, Jack of Heart's voice high-pitched and still overly excited. Tony curses and, seeing the manhole he needs, he kneels down and opens it, dropping down into the darkness and closing the cover. The smell of the tunnel hits his nose immediately and he pulls a face, but at least this tunnel is a power cable route, not sewage. Tony moves quickly, just in case Jack of Hearts locates him. If he takes two rights and a left, there's a locked door that leads to the cables for _Stark International,_ and if he goes through four main junctions of _those_ tunnels, he can come up to the emergency access generator room that sits near the underground garage. You need four levels of codes to get that far, but Tony has the master codes, of course.

Most of his maintenance crew work regular hours, with a minimal staff on site for out of hours emergencies, so Tony doesn't encounter anyone but a couple of security guys. Tony hired them himself, years ago, and they just laugh and greet him when they see him, used to meeting him in the tunnels every now and again. Tony likes to walk through most of his workplaces personally every now and again, and this is one of his favorite escape routes, when things get too difficult.

When Tony eventually emerges into the underground car park, mostly empty apart from a few regular cars, four of which are his, it's cold and dark. Tony makes a mental note to get maintenance to put more lighting, and he uses his codes to bypass main security, making a beeline for his offices. He doesn't have to use the secret tunnel under the administration building, because it's _Tony Stark_ coming to work, not Iron Man. It's an important distinction.

Krissy is still working, because his PA doesn't understand that regular hours are a thing and she's allowed to go home. Tony can't really judge, because he doesn't understand that either. He stops by her desk for a quick second to tell her if Jack of Hearts calls, to push him _way_ back on the priority list, maybe to the umpteenth of Never-ember, and he grabs a drink from the employee vending machine outside R&D and bypasses his main team's workspaces, taking the private elevator to his workroom, stopping by R&D's delivery to grab hold of the trolley containing a large crate marked for Tony's eyes only.

If he avoids Kevin's still-empty workspace by taking this route, it's not entirely coincidental.

Not many people have access to Tony's personal workshop. Even less people see it how it's supposed to be, because there are shutters over most of his workspaces that come down to mask his work, should the board demand to inspect his personal projects. The large workshop is set up as a panic room, with a small kitchen annex at the back with enough food and water for months stored in it—in the event of an emergency, a thick bulletproof shutter will come down and block the main entrance and the elevator and the whole room can hermetically be sealed off.

There's a display over the main door that announces whether Tony is inside or not, and a large speaker so his PA—currently Krissy—can get his attention over the noise of his music or machinery. There's no window looking in. Privacy is necessary. He's never liked being watched while he's working and his designs are lightyears ahead of his competition and need to be protected. That's the public spiel. Mostly Tony likes to be able to work on Iron Man without interruption, and if Tony's alone, he can even transform into Iron Man safely in his workshop without anyone thinking oddly of it. He's also connected the Iron Man helmet to the speaker in the workshop, meaning in an emergency Krissy can page him and get a response, so it means Tony has a pretty decent alibi while Iron Man is out and about fighting robots and dragons and goodness knows what else he's going to have to learn how to knock out next.

Tony heads over to the main display console and activates the subroutine to make sure the display Krissy can see shows that he's working and isn't to be interrupted unless it's an emergency. He has a list of his most common commands on the homepage and his breath falters for one moment, because there are three subroutines that have STARK&KEVIN in the tag. Tony's fingers tremble. He swallows back a bitter taste and hurriedly selects the files and archives them.

Kevin was one of the very few people who were allowed into this room to work. Not just because he knew Tony was Iron Man, but because he was one of the few people in the world who could keep up with Tony when he was working. The subroutines allowed Kevin access to most of the consoles in the room. He'll have to take at least one scan of Michael before Michael can come in here, because Tony will need to use his own equipment to calibrate the Guardsman armor, and the equipment won't recognize Michael until Tony programs them to accept him. Tony's not quite ready for another O'Brien to be in this space. Not yet. He can jury-rig a mobile scanner to take that scan.

Tony settles his bottle of water at the station he wants to work, then moves over to the trolley he brought down in the elevator, and crowbars it open. Nestled in packing straw is pieces of green metal, topped by an inhuman helmet, staring directly at Tony. Tony stares back at it. The Guardsman is a prototype, designed to be distinct to Iron Man. The features are much more basic. Tony initially came up with the idea as something more mass-producible than Iron Man, with the idea that one day he could have an army of Guardsmen, ready to protect everyone and anyone.

Kevin's death muted that desire.

The problem with futurism is when you get mentally too stuck too far ahead, and don't start making the steps to get to where you need to go. One sure part of the future is that Michael wants to honor Kevin by being the Guardsman, and to do that, Tony has a lot of work to do.

He methodically starts pulling out the pieces of the armor, and begins.

* * *

Tony doesn't know whether it's a blessing or a curse that the Avengers aren't called to assemble for a few days, because it gives him time to focus on the Guardsman problem, but it also gives him time to _hyper_focus, and that's probably not a good thing for Tony's general health. Because once he starts tinkering and working in his lab, it takes a lot to rouse him.

Even the pauses in-between working on the portable brain scan tech, which are necessary breaks for his code to compile and for the materials to cool between construction, aren't restful pauses, because he uses the time to do some overdue maintenance and tinkering work for the Avengers. Beast's identicard is crushed beyond recognition, two of Hawkeye's marksman training bots are malfunctioning, and he promised Michael a training exoskeleton rig as well. Tony's been developing them as a side-project for a while. The hydraulic exoskeletons are based a little on his Iron Man armors, but they don't require any cybernetic interfaces, and ideally they'll be used to help people walk who need a little (or a lot of) assistance.

He also sets the next version of Iron Man armor into production, buoyed by a pleasant brainwave about nanotube compression and a new way to knit polymers; this version should compress even further, making it even more portable and giving him the space for a versatile rig that he can fix various attachments to, depending on his needs. By default, he fits an amended version of Kevin's stun ray.

By the time Tony raises his head, he's been awake for nearly sixty hours, he's surrounded by seven half-eaten meals delivered via his elevator thanks to Krissy, and he has forty-nine messages waiting for him from Krissy on his "not an emergency but still high priority" e-mail account. He deals with those as briefly as possible, bundles up the items he'll need to take to the Avengers, and for a brief second he idly contemplates the far wall which has an extendable cot folded into a wall recess. Tony sighs, and buzzes security for a ride instead. The idea of fresh sheets for a night is alluring.

By the time he emerges into the daylight, squinting even through sunglasses, it's actually lunchtime, and Tony's stomach eagerly tries to make him take notice, but the light and fresh air just combine to make him feel queasy. He mentally notes a quick action plan—get to the mansion, take a brainreading from Michael so he can start processing the results, deliver Beast's new identicard, and take a quick nap in his bed before making the fixes he needs to make to the shooting range and training bots. He takes a car service to the mansion's front door, but gets two of his favorite security guys to follow the limo with the materials he needs, and he directs them to the main entrance, because the tradesman entrance is too near the kitchen, and Tony wants a moment to breathe before having to be social. It's lunchtime. There isn't anywhere else in the mansion but the kitchen that the Avengers would be.

Tony hangs out on the sidewalk awkwardly as the guys unload the heavy crates he needs, directing them to place them in the hallway of the mansion for him, because Tony Stark's heart is supposed to be much too weak for heavy labor, one more layer of facade to protect Iron Man's identity. Heck, it probably is too weak now, thanks to the synthetic heart failing him. Tony bites his tongue so he doesn't yawn while he's out on the street and still in view of paparazzi lenses. Photojournalists don't follow him around as closely as they used to, but they do stalk the Avengers fairly regularly, and as far as Tony can surmise, the Avengers will probably be here.

When he bids the security men goodbye and dismisses his driver, Tony opens the front door of the mansion and is surprised at the faint note of noise. Conversation, he thinks, as he closes the door behind him. Jarvis hasn't come at the sound of the front door, but Tony isn't too surprised—Jarvis knows he doesn't like it when he overly hovers, and it _is_ lunchtime, so Jarvis is probably fielding a handful of different food orders from the Avengers. Tony stills for a moment, just in the case the noise is the beginnings of some sort of villain altercation, but he hears laughter and relaxes.

Tony takes a moment to push the five crates containing the materials he needs to fix up and maintain the training areas of the mansion into an alcove, and takes the case with the portable brainscanner in towards the kitchen. He's somewhat startled to be able to place multiple voices coming from his destination. Steve's low voice rumbles something, and Jan's higher warm tones add something, and there's a loud twang of an Irish accent—Michael telling a story of some sort, Tony thinks, because there's a burst of laughter again, and he thinks he can hear Beast's guffaw and Jarvis' amused chuckle. No one even looks his way when he pulls up to the doorway, and he's a little surprised to see Simon isn't there, but Clint is, laughing along with the others.

Neither Steve nor Clint are wearing their masks. Tony's stomach clenches nervously, but they all look calm—Michael's obviously passed whatever secret test exists to qualify as safe to know their faces.

"—so we were hurrying, like, full-on, arms pumping, pushing people on the sidewalk aside, _desperately_ hurtling down Grand Street, and I still have this pink feather boa from the stripper, _flapping_ behind me in the wind, and we make it all the way to the dumpster, and we're freaking out, because no one wants to see a _dead baby_ at 3 in the morning and we play rock, paper, scissors, right, for the privilege. I lose, and I'm scared to death, I can hear my heart pounding in my ears, and I reach down for this supposed baby corpse and—it's a burrito. A fucking _burrito._"

Clint howls in laughter and bashes the table, the other Avengers chuckling good-naturedly.

"What about the dude that called it in?" Clint asks, wiping actual tears from his eyes.

Michael shrugs. "High as a kite. Took him in and he slept it off in a cell."

"Man, now I want burritos," Beast says, chuckling.

"Yeah, not from the food truck I busted after the baby thing," Michael says, pulling a face, "it's—Oh, hey, boss. Didn't see you there!"

Tony blinks as the Avengers all seem to turn and startle a little. He feels a little off-center. "Don't mind me," he says, somewhat awkwardly. Jarvis looks dismayed that he hadn't noticed Tony coming in, so Tony shoots him a quick smile to let him know it's okay before he looks directly back at Michael. "I'm just here to borrow you for a moment, if no one minds?"

"Aww, I want more weird cop stories," Clint says.

"Yeah, anything," Michael says, hands moving to push away from the table.

"Just need a non-invasive brain-scan," Tony says quickly, "I mean, you can probably keep talking."

"Excellent," Clint says, and Michael holds for a second before shrugging, and relaxing back into his seat. Tony's slightly aware he's being afforded a couple of appraising glances, and he feels distinctly awkward about it, because it's giving him the sensation of an evaluation. He feels like he's all fingers and thumbs for a moment, so he focuses on putting down the black case and slowly opening the clasps. His invention for this is sleek, and Tony's suddenly glad he made it less oppressive in appearance than its parent device. It's just a black band that goes around the head, balancing on the top of the ears, with two pads that rest against the wearer's temples, and a data collection module inbuilt into the band along with a battery and a charging port that can transmit the results wirelessly to Tony's phone. It's designed to collect a range of biofeedback and physiological activity, including brain waves, heart rate, muscle tension, body temperature, and respiratory rate, as well as gauging Michael's reactions to different pulses of different wavelengths.

"This won't hurt," Tony promises, and Michael passively sits and lets Tony attach it. "Continue like I'm not here, it's fine."

Michael pulls a face, but when the band doesn't hurt him at all, he squints over at Clint. "Did I tell you yet about the time I found the stupidest suspect of all time?"

"Was it Clint?" Beast asks, snickering when Clint throws a candy wrapper at his head.

Tony pulls out his phone and checks that the connection is working, before tapping a few instructions and letting his phone download the appropriate readings.

"No way," Jan gasps, giggling as Michael describes how he called out _Marco_, and the dumb idiot—who, by the way, was _not_ called Marco —called back _Polo_. Clint responds by telling a story about the time he spent three hours watching a target, only to nearly miss him—because the window he'd been staring at was only occupied by one thing, a cardboard cut-out of Danny DeVito. Steve chimes in with a story about how one of the Howling Commandoes went hurtling into this little German village, ruining their stealth mission, because he heard a woman screaming H_ilfe! Hilfe! _which was German for _help!_ and it turned out the woman had a cat called _Hilfe._

After he's gathered enough readings, Tony slips the headband off Michael and puts it back in the case, before pulling Beast's new identicard from his pocket. He has to lean into Beast's line of sight to get his attention, and he gives Beast the card. "Try not to break this one," he mutters. Beast mumbles an apology and gratefully takes it, quickly turning back to the team discussion.

"Wait, no, no, you _didn't,_" Michael says, staring at Jan with wide eyes. Tony squints, trying to figure out what story Jan told him, but he doesn't know what incident would make Jan beam so wickedly. The Avengers laugh again, and Tony steps back, feeling oddly off-step again. He picks up the brain-scanner case and quietly moves around the table to whisper to Jarvis that he's off to his room, and not to disturb him unless necessary.

Jarvis promises, and Tony slips out of the kitchen quickly. He frowns as he hurries down to his bedroom, locking himself in and leaning against the door, baffled. There were times in this mansion that Tony had felt out of place as a kid. Too small, not smart enough yet, too _weak_. Having the Avengers use the mansion as a base had made the place feel... better. More like it could be Tony's home, not a mausoleum of unpleasant memories.

And now, somehow, he's never felt more like he doesn't belong.

* * *

Exhaustion helps fuel a nap, but when Tony wakes after ninety minutes, he's wide awake. He stares idly at his bedroom ceiling and the familiar crimson paint. He's always been a fan of the color red. He has a quick flash of an old memory—a five-year-old Tony, clambering into his _big boy_ bed, and his mother laughing. She smelled like freesias and vanilla as she pressed two kisses against Tony's face, one for each cheek. There was a glint of gold at her throat, at her ears, and her dark hair curled just so, tendrils snaking across the bright red of her dress.

Tony's mouth feels dry and he blinks the memory away. If he closes his eyes, he can hear her cajoling him to sleep, his toys (tools) will be waiting for him when he wakes up... He staggers up and to the bathroom, neatly throwing up into the toilet bowl, and he rinses his mouth out at the sink with cold water until his whole face is numb.

He needs to work. He needs his whole body to be numb. Some good physical labor is just what he needs and he's wearing the chestplate, it's fully charged, so his heart can take it. After ensuring the shooting range is empty, Tony temporarily puts a lockdown on the whole room to anyone but himself, makes sure he has the Iron Man identicard in his pocket in case they need to assemble, and then hurries down to the first floor and grabs the first crate he needs for that work. Normally "Iron Man" would appear to carry the boxes, but Tony needs to feel his muscles burn. He carries the crate through the dining room, to the library beyond, and pushes it into elevator B. He returns quickly to pick up the second crate, his shoulders starting to ache already, but he pushes through and gets back to the elevator without running into anyone. He catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the metal of the elevator, and sees the grim line of his mouth and the shadows under his eyes. It's probably a good thing he didn't have to face anyone.

Tony hits the button to descend a floor, and the elevator hums and starts to take him to the basement. Elevator B can go to sub-basement level one, but only for Tony, and only by his verbal command. Sub-basement one is where he constructs things for the Avengers when he's not at the _Stark International _headquarters_. _The Avengers' main assembly room is on sub-basement level one, but they reach it via elevator A, and the Avengers don't have access to the rooms surrounding it. Elevator B is the only one that can reach the other parts of sub-basement one—the fuel room, the servers, the memory, the fabrication lab, the generators, the hydraulic reservoir, storage, computers, Tony has it all down there. He makes a mental note to store the old Iron Man armors down there, if he ever gets them back. He makes a mental note to send a message to Sitwell to that effect.

Tony's the only one with access to sub-basement two and he... doesn't go there either. His father designed that floor for weapon creation. Every angle, every tool bench, every box of partial-invention and parts and papers... Tony can't bear even looking at them. He'd contemplated using the part of sub-basement two that allowed submarine launches, but the quinjets removed that need.

Tony doesn't go to the basement level as himself very often. Usually it's Iron Man that visits the basement, with the combat simulation room his main destination. He rarely visits the target range—Iron Man usually gets his target practice at the more robust basements at _Stark International_ that are designed to withstand that much firepower—but he keeps periodically upgrading it. Mostly because when Tony gets an idea in his head, and it would improve things, he gets this _itch_, in his fingers and his brain, that isn't satisfied until he's done it. That's the best thing about being the Avengers' primary benefactor—they're in the habit of letting him just get on with it. At first it was because he _was_ their money roll, and you have to oblige a billionaire's whimsy when they're giving you so much for so little, but now it's because the Avengers are just used to whatever Tony creates or tinkers with being genuinely great enhancements. Well, occasionally Steve will revert things to their original settings, but as Steve is a living legend, they all oblige his whims, Tony included.

The target room used to be just a standard archery target room. Stationary targets. Netting hung behind the targets to slow stray bolts. Straw dummies with round targets pinned into the relevant target spots. Tony smirks to himself at the upgrades. It's not as advanced as the combat simulation room, but there are five levels of moving targets that run on one of several thousand pre-programmed subroutines, as well as a randomized chosen level of difficulty. The targets can be wooden or paper depending on who is practicing—Clint prefers the thunk of his bolts hitting wood, but Wanda's chaos blasts and Simon's energy manipulation need the paper to show how well they've hit the target. Tony needs to repair the track on level three and four, some of the arms that hold the target are a little bent, and he wants to add swivel motion to the life-size targets that spring out of the floor.

Even with the two-hour break he has to take partway through construction, dealing with a frantic Head of Development at _Stark International _Ottawa branch because warehouse has had a snafu and there isn't enough coolant at four of the other branches—this one paperwork misstep has caused a domino of other problems, Tony gets everything sorted out that he's planned. Of course, it's only when he's nearly finished that he gets the idea to add a new array of sensors so Clint can score points when he's practicing; Clint's competitive, mostly against himself, so a scoreboard might be just the ticket. Tony's already mentally ticking over what he needs to do it as he packs up.

With all the hard labor, Tony's actually feeling hungry, so he packs up the broken pieces into the crates, sets a couple of roombas off to clean up the dust from his work, and he carries the mercifully much lighter crates out to the elevator. He takes a brief trip down to sub-basement level one to put the crates in his fabrication lab for breakdown and storage when he has a little more time. Then he slips back up to the basement level when he realizes it's empty to use the shower facilities, because there's a locker in there with spare clothes in which are more comfortable than his suit that will still ensure his chestplate remains hidden.

It's only when Tony makes it up to the first floor again that he realizes it must be pretty late, because when he emerges from the dining hall, and passes through the foyer to the main hallway, Jarvis' bedroom door is closed. The mansion hallway is unlit and cast with an almost eerie blue light, giving the paintings on the gallery wall matching shadowy expressions. It's much quieter too. The Avengers are probably in bed, Tony thinks, and then tags on _mostly,_ because there's a soft yellow light coming from the direction of the kitchen.

When Tony heads in there, suppressing a soft yawn in the thick material of his long-sleeved _Stark International_ sweatshirt, it's to the sight of Steve Rogers, not in his Captain America uniform. Steve's in his running clothes, gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, but he's barefoot and Tony can see his favorite running shoes by the door to the pantry, a fresh pair of socks folded and balanced on top. Steve hasn't started his run yet and he's busy reading something on a tablet, a half-drunk protein shake by his elbow.

"A bit late for a run, isn't it?" Tony remarks, making a beeline to the coffee machine. As usual in a house full of occupants it's empty, but Tony doesn't mind the routine of refilling the beans and water and setting it off. Even basic technology is soothing to him.

"Oh, no," Steve says, and he looks somewhat dismayed. "Clint mentioned the target range was down all night, but I guess I'd hoped something was processing or setting or—" He gestures with the hand not holding his tablet.

"Compiling," Tony offers. "It's all processing now. Clint should be able to get in by—" and he glances at the clock and openly winces. Whoops. It's 5am. How is it 5am already? He'd been down on the shooting range for _fourteen hours_? "Oh," he finishes.

"Oh," Steve agrees, shaking his head a little. "Have you slept at all?"

"Yes," Tony instantly answers, because he got that nap in before starting, but he takes two tries to pull his mug out from the coffee machine, and pulls a face, frustrated. "Probably not enough," he allows. He sips from the mug, winces, and puts it down at the table before opening the fridge and staring at the contents. Nothing really seems appetizing.

"Let me get that," Steve says, suddenly appearing at Tony's side, _damn_ his cat-quiet movements, Tony needs to put a bell on that. He gently but forcibly displaces Tony and starts pulling out things from the shelves.

"I'm not incompe—" Tony tries again. "I can fend for myself."

Steve makes a humming noise at the back of his throat. "I know you can. But I was going to make an omelet after my shake anyway, and I might as well make it for two. I thought you liked efficiency?"

Tony wants to roll his eyes, but even through his sleep deprivation, he can tell it would be petulant, and Steve is being kind, so he holds up his hands and slinks back to the table and his coffee. "I'm returning the favor at some point," he mumbles. Then, because while he has Captain America right there, and this is definitely a Tony and Cap discussion topic, not an Iron Man and Cap one, says: "Hey, so I had some more ideas about the target range."

"We might never get him out of there," Steve says, thoughtfully, after Tony's outlined the sensors and points plan. Tony's already eaten half the omelet Steve made him, almost without thinking about it. "I've already had to yell at him for dragging your friend into the game arcade room for four hours."

"I may have made a mistake installing that room by the running track," Tony admits. "Is it too late to require people to run four laps before the door will open to the arcade?"

"Definitely put a pin in that idea."

"Roger that," Tony says, which makes Steve rolls his eyes. "This is good, by the way. Thanks." He gestures with his fork at his plate.

"Jarvis has been teaching me," Steve admits. "Still getting used to being able to buy anything you want at the supermarket, really. I'll get the hang of it at some point, I'm sure."

Tony pulls a wry face. Supermarkets aren't a common environment for him. He's tried going out incognito, baseball cap and sunglasses, paying in cash so his credit card doesn't give him away, but there's always someone who recognizes him, and the tabloids are never kind.

"You look lost in thought, anything on your mind I can help with?" Steve asks. Tony startles. He hadn't realized quite how long he'd fallen silent for. When he looks up, Steve is looking at him with his serious _Captain America_ face, and Tony's sad that he's somewhat spooked _Steve_ away from the conversation.

"Lost in thought, that's so unusual for me," Tony jokes. "Ah, just—Trying to wrap my head around how odd your life is."

Steve actually chuckles, and, to Tony's relief, his expression relaxes again, his concern fading away. "I'm still trying to do that myself. Let me know if you come to any good conclusions."

"Will do, Captain," Tony says, flipping him an off-center salute with his fork.

"Steve," Steve corrects, pointing at Tony with his knife in return, "remember?"

"_Steve_," Tony says, aiming for petulant and oddly missing that mark, because it comes out tinged with a warmth Tony's surprised by. He's _pleased_ by Steve's insistence that Tony use his name. Tony feels a little of that off-centered sensation that's been lingering within him fade away.

Steve seems pleased by Tony's reaction, beaming at him honestly, and he opens his mouth like he's about to say something else, but falters when someone else interrupts with a soft, "Sorry I'm late."

Tony turns his gaze to see Michael standing in the doorway, looking a little flushed. He's wearing running shoes and jogging pants and a too-large NYPD t-shirt, sagging at the neck.

"Oh," Michael adds, seeing Tony, "hey, boss."

Tony eyeballs him. "I'm not your boss."

"My regular paycheck says otherwise," Michael says. "Deal with it."

"That's you told," Steve says, winking at Tony before wiping his mouth with a towel and getting to his feet. "You're not late, Mike, it's fine."

_Mike? _Tony mouths under his breath, punched again by a little of that off-center feeling again.

"Cap's offered to put me through my paces," Michael explains, as Steve kneels to put his own running shoes on. "Although you should have seen the route he tried to make me do yesterday."

Steve looks up and grins rakishly. "Always gotta haze the rookies," he says. "C'mon, hop to it, O'Brien."

"Sir, yes sir," Michael says, rolling his eyes and winking at Tony. "You don't want to join us?"

"He needs sleep," Steve says, and yep, that's his Captain America voice again.

"I do need sleep," Tony agrees, and he wrinkles his nose at Michael. "Thanks for the invite, but—rather you than me. I wouldn't make it a block."

Steve gets to his feet and looks sadly at Tony. "Guess the synthetic heart repair could still fail any time, huh?"

Tony's mouth goes dry. The concern all the Avengers had given him after he openly wore the mark I Iron Man suit and nearly died saving them still chokes him up sometimes, the way they all hung around the hospital, demanding the doctors update them on his condition.

They had no idea Tony was _always_ the one in the suit. They still thought Tony had thrown himself into the mark I purely to selflessly save them because Iron Man wasn't available. The relief on their faces when Pym's Ultra-Rejuvenator saved Tony's life... That memory is always such a gut punch. Tony can't bring himself to tell them it's already failed and he's back living under the burden of the heavy chestplate. He doesn't want to know how they'd look at him. They already view him as fragile. He doesn't think he could stand it.

"Better safe than sorry," Tony says. He's not lying. He's omitting the truth. It is better to be safe than sorry. Tony just rarely follows his own advice.

Steve's smile is still somber when he nods at Tony and, with a point at the pantry and the back door, Michael follows him out, chucking a more amused smile Tony's way. Tony watches them go. He clenches his hands into fists so he doesn't give into the urge to break something, because the Avengers are right, he is so goddamned fragile. The urge fails and the fists are a mistake, because when he lashes out, he catches both his and Steve's mostly empty plates, and they smash thoroughly against the wall in a terrible mess.

Tony stares at the damage, the sound of the breaking plates still ringing in his ears, and he moves automatically to pick up the destruction. He methodically bags up the shards and fallen food, and cleans the floor, and hides the evidence at the bottom of the kitchen trashcan. If only every mess Tony made could be cleared up so easily.


	3. Chapter 3

_I have established nothing for good,_

_I have but established these things, till things farther_

_onward shall be prepared to be established,_

_And I am myself the preparer of things farther_

_onward_

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

The thing is, Tony and feelings do not go well together.

He's so _irritated _by the flood of unwanted feelings that he does whatever he does when emotions become pesky—he sublimates the negative feelings into work (work on the Guardsman suit, and creating a lot of new things: new Iron Man armor, new Avengers training bots, new nano-transistors for _Stark International_ so his investors don't cry, new carbon tubing for SHIELD so that Nick Fury doesn't cry, new hydraulic rigs for R&D and Michael to try), and he takes his vulnerability over not being able to do the big things (like, for example, tell the Avengers he is Iron Man) into confronting the _smaller_ things he's scared of head-on (like, inviting Michael O'Brien to his personal lab.)

It is weird seeing Michael standing in the room where Kevin used to work, and it's even weirder when Tony shows him into his private workroom, because for a second, Tony wants to throw him out. The flash of wonder on Michael's face is just too close to Kevin's expression, the first time _he_ was invited into Tony's workroom. But then Michael starts prodding at things that Kevin never would have, and it's such a good physical sign that Michael really isn't Kevin, and Tony's so busy intervening to stop Michael from electrocuting himself that the alien feeling of Michael being there fades away. Michael has to ask a thousand questions when Tony shows him the new brain-scanning rig that he's created, much more in-depth than the portable one, and Tony shows him the monitor and then realizes Michael isn't a scientist. Michael's a cop. Thank goodness Tony's had years of having to put things into accessible terms for the Avengers to understand.

"So this is what, mapping my brain?" Michael's clamped into the rig so he can't move much, and his voice echoes in the small cylindrical chamber his head is surrounded by that Michael's already christened as the "cement mixer".

"I can print you out a certificate after, if you like," Tony says. "Prove to the boys down the precinct that you do have a brain."

Michael huffs a laugh. "Ain't going back, they can think what they want."

"You're really set on this path, huh?"

"Absolutely. Cap's given me a training plan, but I'm not allowed to do anything but watch the Avengers spar. Yet."

"You sound frustrated." Tony grins. "Guess it's good I finished the hydraulic exoskeleton rigs this morning, huh?"

"We can try them out after this scan is finished, right?" Michael's face falls. "You probably have a meeting, though. I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time, you must have a lot of better things to do with it."

"None of that," Tony says. He looks solemnly at Michael. "If this world was a better place, I'd still be getting to do this work for—" He hesitates, feeling impossibly guilty.

"Yeah, I find it hard to say his name too, sometimes." Michael's face arranges itself into something more solemn, and in the sobering quiet, Tony taps the commands to finish the scan and release the precautionary clamps that stop Michael from wriggling too much. Michael rubs at his wrists but stays reclined in the rig, watching Tony warily.

"Tell you what," Tony says, "you hop out of the cement mixer—we'll work on the name later—and go back to the mansion, I'll push some things in my schedule and we can try out the rigs in the combat simulation room. Much better facilities there than the product testing lab. Nicer places to fall." He quirks an off-center smirk. "And you will fall."

"Yeah?" Michael says, clambering awkwardly out of the brain scanner. "We'll see about that."

Tony waves at him, already turning to the results of the scan, his head already hurting a little from all the calculations. His math is never wrong, but his math is also usually a thousand pages of calculations at a time. It's a challenge, but Tony supposes he wouldn't know what to do with anything that was easy.

* * *

The hydraulic exoskeleton rig isn't exactly easy, but Tony has thousands of hours experience in a similar frame, so at least he can make it _look_ easy. He finishes adjusting his own rig, using a screwdriver at the hips to make sure it's sitting right, and shuffles to be sure it's adjusted.

Michael's standing awkwardly in his own version of the rig. Tony got him sorted before putting his own on.

"Try walking around," Tony says, bending at the knees and feeling a little push-back from the right knee articulation. He forcibly bends it back and forth with a couple of lunging movements, and frowns, dropping to his left knee and extending his right knee so he can work at it in place. "Every small movement will be magnified." He smirks to himself as he tightens a connection and hears Michael yelp. "Aim for the mats."

"Too late," Michael says, and as Tony looks up, Michael is already flat on the floor. Tony laughs, and jogs over to him in long bounding strides, highlighting how the tech is supposed to be used. "Showoff," Michael mutters, but he takes Tony's hand and gets to his feet.

Tony runs Michael through the paces of the rig, and after a few run-throughs, Michael's already breathing hard, so Tony goes to fetch them both a cold bottle of water as Michael lies on the softest mat, his hand over the back of his eyes as he starfishes out.

"The Guardsman armor felt a lot easier than this," Michael sighs, pushing himself upright as Tony hands him his water.

"Yeah, well, it would," Tony says, sitting down opposite him on the floor. It's weirdly freeing being in the combat simulation room without his armor on when his only companion _knows_ he's Iron Man, so there's nothing to hide. "The cybernetic network is designed to do most of the work for you. That's why the Iron Man armor can go for so long. Even when I get tired, it can keep on going. The rig needs a lot more help because it can't intuitively move with you, but it does magnify what a normal body can do on its own."

"Yeah," Michael says, rubbing his head from where he smacked into the ceiling earlier, underestimating just how high the rig could take him. "I'm gonna be bruised for _weeks_."

Tony grins ruefully. "Hazard of the lifestyle, I'm afraid," he says, and lifts up the side of his shirt, where there's a _mammoth_ bruise crawling up his side, disappearing under the edges of the chestplate. "The day you can climb out of bed without feeling like every single joint has rusted, is the day you've been kidnapped by a supervillain for the ninth time in one week and you're on the good drugs." He grins at Michael, all teeth.

"I'd say you're insane," Michael says, "but it doesn't put me off wanting to be the Guardsman, so I guess that says the same about me."

Tony looks at Michael, who's leaning back on his hands and staring into thin air. "I suppose."

"You're good with the rig, though," Michael says.

Tony makes a humming noise so he doesn't have to verbally accept the compliment. "Hundreds of hours testing have already gone into it. I like to self-test most of my inventions when I can." Tony grins ruefully. "Usually when they're not quite ready. You should have seen the forward triple somersault that launched me through a window and landed me in my PA's office on my first trial run."

"How did Krissy take that? She seems nice."

"She seems single," Tony says, and Michael grins. "Nah, it was Pepper at the time." He drums his fingers on the ground. "She's on extended leave at the moment. Stress." Tony misses out the part where he caused all the stress by letting Happy wear the armor, and Happy got caught in the crossfire when Blizzard attacked. Yet one more thing in his life to endlessly regret.

"Ah," Michael says. "Yeah, I guess a job where your boss catapults himself into your workspace at unexpected moments would be stressful."

Tony manages a soft chuckle, even though it sounds unnatural to himself. "She'll be back. I hope. She, uh... she knows. Which I'm sure is most of her source of stress, to be honest."

"She knows—ah. Iron Man. Guess hiding that from your PA isn't always easy."

Tony shakes his head. "I guess I'm just not that great at hiding my identity as I wish I was."

"How many people do know?"

"You," Tony says. "Happy Hogan. He was my chauffeur."

"Was?" Michael prompts, looking up at Tony again sharply.

"Oh, he's fine right now," Tony assures Michael. "Married Pepper, actually. Off with her on that extended stress leave."

Michael nods. "Any of the Avengers?"

Tony shakes his head. "No. There was this incident, a while ago, where I had to wear the original armor for a complex number of reasons, and the Avengers knew then I was in that suit. Trouble is, I kind of died."

"I think I remember reading about that in the papers," Michael says, before sitting upright and glaring at Tony this time. "You _died_?"

"Just a little bit," Tony defends. "Thankfully there was this device that Hank Pym made, the Ultra-Rejuvenator, that was able to keep me alive until they could give me a synthetic heart and save my life, but when the procedure was done there was always a risk it would fail and I'd need this again." He raps at his own chest and the metal makes a soft distinctive sound even through the material of his sweatshirt.

"When did it fail?" Michael asks, his voice level and low.

Tony smiles sadly. "A while ago. I haven't told them yet, though."

"I shouldn't sound even a little bit surprised."

Tony's sad smile widens into a smirk. He shrugs honestly. "The looks on their faces when they thought I'd put myself in danger _once_ to save them. I don't think I could bear them realizing I'm—" He pauses as he searches for the right word.

"—a self-sacrificing idiot?" Michael prompts.

"I was going to go for _occasionally as dumb as a box of bricks,_" Tony says, "but that works." He looks at Michael speculatively. Michael's not doing as badly with the rig as Tony's first few attempts, but then, the rig has undergone several improvements since then. The shock-absorbers at the ankles alone are a significant improvement.

"We gonna try some more moves?" Michael says, gesturing at the rig.

Tony nods. "Would you mind if I harvested the security feed for the next part? I can upload the footage into my software, analyze your force input and output, model the reactions. Should help me improve the frame for what it's supposed to be used for."

Tony had already explained that he was honing them to produce them to help veterans walk again after serious bodily injury, so he's not surprised when Michael nods immediately.

"It's not going to go on Facespace, is it?" Michael asks worriedly. "The boys at work would love to see me landing on my ass a thousand times."

"Just for my eyes and a couple of my techs. I can blur your face if you're worried. I just need to map how it's moving, possibly ask you some quick questions later?"

"Sounds fine by me."

"I designed it for assisted movement, originally, so the new stressors on the system of different movements should give me some data towards making this more adaptable for different physical needs. I've got some sketches of a chip based on the rig's processors that I've been considering could one day replace someone's entire nervous system, do the work for them, but until I can figure out how to shrink that to a workable size, the rig's a good start."

Michael looks at him oddly. "And you're going to sell this?"

"Eh," Tony says, "probably just to cover basic production materials, and even then, I'm sure I can get one of my Foundations to cover that. Lot of guys we owe a ton to need this sort of help. I couldn't justify making a profit from _vets_, c'mon."

Michael stands for a moment, hands akimbo, shaking his head as he stares at the ceiling. "I can't believe I ever thought you were a bad guy."

Tony barks a shout of laughter that isn't amusement. He squints at Michael. "How sure are you that I'm not just doing it for the tax break?"

Michael looks coolly back at him. "How sure am _I_ that every tax break you get goes back into funding this sort of altruistic side project?"

Tony's face wants to crumple, all on its own, and he hates that feeling. "C'mon, you've had a break. Hop to it."

Michael gives him a dark look. "You've trained with Captain America for way too long."

When Tony laughs this time, there's much less bitterness in it.

* * *

After Michael's had enough of training, Tony sends him back up to the mansion to shower and recover, but he doesn't leave with him. Instead he locks up the combat simulation room, leaving a note on the door that it's temporarily unavailable but to ping him on the intercom if it's an emergency, and he takes the opportunity to work on fixing one of the extendable arms from the ceiling, and one of the bots in the slots in the floor that he's been getting error reports on by the handful. He leaves the rig on as he works just so he can hop easily from the floor to the ceiling, because the arms—designed to lower down and attack the Avengers in variously programmed attack patterns—have taken a serious beating and need more fixing than Tony anticipated.

Thankfully there's enough material in the mansion already to do the repairs, although Tony notes as he works that he's running low on nondetergent petroleum base oil, and then he discovers there are microscopic cracks in the link plates of the movement mechanics that mean a whole section of the left-most arm needs replacing, so Tony ends up excising the whole thing. He considers leaving a note, but realizes that might knock Steve's training plan too much, so he sits and re-programs the training software so that the other arms compensate for the currently missing one.

By the time he finishes and re-opens the combat simulation room, it's dark outside, and when Tony stretches, his back makes a protesting noise of its own, a soft ripple of crackles and pops that say he's been mistreating his body yet again.

A bath, he thinks as he undoes the rig and stashes it in a locker, might be the perfect solution. There's a small one in the bathroom attached to his small upstairs bedroom. Tony can almost smell the bath soap already. Normally he's not one to linger, as it's a pain covering up the chestplate for full submersion, but his aching muscles protest and remind him sometimes it's worth the effort. He spares the hydrotherapy area of the basement a longing glance, but there's no way to use that without revealing the chestplate, and heads to elevator A towards the first floor, because if he doesn't eat before bed he _won't_, and that's probably a bad idea. Tony is growing tired of being the reigning King of Bad Ideas.

It's when he comes out of the elevator that he can hear excited voices and Tony's gut tenses warily, because noise in this place is always hit-and-miss to whether it's fun or danger, as if the Avengers ever know the difference. Tony pauses just outside the elevator, the soft breeze as the elevators doors close behind him cool on his sweaty skin, and he tries his best to listen. His feet are cold. Maybe he left his shoes in the combat simulation room. Oh, well. He can fetch them later. He relaxes when he hears Jan's distinctive giggle. Jan never giggles when there are supervillains around.

Jarvis tenses for a second when Tony enters the kitchen, then relaxes when he sees who it is. "Dinner, sir?"

Tony wrinkles his mouth. "I'm not sure. I might just grab a snack?"

"I'm sure you haven't eaten correctly today, let me make you something," Jarvis says. Tony frowns, because what is it with people thinking he's incapable of getting basic food for himself? Jarvis deflates a little at the expression on Tony's face. "I just... I guess I miss the days when it was just you and me, sir. It's always so hectic when the Avengers are around." He winces. "I mean, I love working for the Avengers, don't get me wrong, it's nice to be so needed. But—for one night, let me pretend it's just you and me. Please?"

Tony stares at Jarvis, and he swallows awkwardly. "Right," he says. "Uh. Pasta?"

"Very good, sir," Jarvis beams, and starts humming under his breath.

"Have they been running you ragged?" Tony says. "Do let me know if it's too much. You know my budget has room for help."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Jarvis huffs, sorting quickly through the fridge and coming out with an arm of ingredients. "But, uh, if you could maybe take a minute to have a word with the good Captain about, uh, Mr. McCoy and his young lady conquests—"

Tony grimaces. "What did he do this time?"

"Well, I went in to change his bedsheets this morning, and—they were occupied."

Tony smothers a grin, because he's done that to Jarvis himself more than once.

"They were lovely girls," Jarvis says, "but he'd already left, and it was rather uncomfortable to, uh, prompt them to a, uh, walk of discomfort—"

"Walk of shame," Tony corrects, trying not to show his slight startle of Jarvis' use of they _plural_. "Cap still on the premises?"

"Foyer," Jarvis says. "Some sort of monthly Avengers bonding shenanigans, I presume."

"I'll be back in two minutes," Tony promises, pausing by the cooker to squeeze Jarvis's shoulder thankfully and smiling warmly at him. Jarvis beams back. Tony leans in and quickly snags a chunk of tomato from the pan and Jarvis goodnaturedly bats him away. "This is delicious, by the way. I should hire you or something."

It's an old joke, but it's a measure of Jarvis's lower-than-usual mood that Jarvis finds it funny enough to laugh.

Tony doesn't have to go far, because Steve is in the foyer, along with Jan, and Clint. All three of them look like they're going out somewhere, maybe dinner is the bonding event Jarvis mentioned. Maybe that's why Jarvis is so desperate to make dinner for Tony, because he hasn't gotten to make food for anyone, and he's like Tony—needs to be busy, because when you stop moving, that's when you actually have to sit and quantify things you'd rather not examine too closely. Jarvis has been getting older. One day he'll be too old to run after after a passel of superheroes, and Tony really does not want to think about what will happen when that day comes. The world keeps changing and Tony tries to keep up and adapt with it, but sometimes it would be nice if the world would just slow down a bit.

The Avengers don't even notice Tony's there. Probably because he's still barefooted and the tiles and rugs don't make much noise. Also the three of them are chatting about some museum exhibition or something, where Clint attended wearing a t-shirt reading _I eat oil paintings when security guards aren't looking;_ apparently he was surprised to be escorted from the premises and given a lifetime ban from the establishment. They're obviously going out somewhere. Jan's even prettier than she is on a normal day. Steve's in his nicest coat, his hair slicked back, and Clint has his favorite leather jacket on that he only wears when he wants people to notice his ass.

Tony thinks about how to gain their attention. Melodrama is probably the way to go.

"I should probably find whoever dumped this pile of garbage in my foyer and get them to remove it," Tony says loudly, leaning against the door to the cloakroom, smirking when all three faces turn in his direction in surprise.

Jan laughs. "We're self-clearing trash, don't worry, Tony." Tony smiles at her. She looks amazing, wearing one of her own designs that flatters her petite figure, and her hair is especially glossy, matching the pink lipstick. "Once the rest of our members get here, that is."

Tony nods and looks over at Steve. "Cap, can I spare a minute before you go?"

Steve nods when Tony indicates the dining room with an inclination of his head. Steve follows him in and raises an eyebrow when Tony firmly closes the door and pulls the curtain across to be sure the sound is muffled. "What's wrong?"

"Just passing on a request from Jarvis, didn't want the others to overhear and cause him any extra grief," Tony says. "If our lovely and energetic young Beast picks up any, uh, friends tonight, can you ask him to please politely deal with escorting them from the mansion himself the morning after? I think Jarvis was a bit rattled this morning."

Steve's face is creased in a combination of concern and curiosity, and then that expression lifts as he realizes what Tony is saying. "He left a girl in the mansion when he wasn't here?"

"From what I hear," Tony says, "two."

"Two? What on—" Steve blinks. "Okay, no, I get it. Uh. I'll sort it out." He nods firmly and puts a hand out to gently rest on Tony's elbow, and Tony can't help it, he flinches, because Steve's too close to the chestplate, and Tony's just— he can't—

There must be something on Tony's face, because Steve backs up and looks apologetic.

"I'll see to it," Steve promises, obviously realizing Tony doesn't want to talk about that moment, which is too much of a kindness, so Tony just nods, grateful when Steve doesn't press the issue and just politely opens the curtains and doors so Tony can leave the room first.

"You going somewhere nice?" Tony asks as they emerge.

"We're just waiting for Simon," Clint says, yawning. "Pretty boy needs more mirror time than you probably do."

"I'm naturally this good looking," Tony assures him. Clint smirks.

"Hey, I heard you call me pretty, Barton, I'm never letting that go," Simon says, hurrying down the stairs. He pauses and calls back, "C'mon, Hank, Mike, you both owe me three shots, _move_ your asses."

Hank appears at the top of the stairs looking somewhat flustered. He has a coat on, wrapped up tightly, but Tony sees from the mass of blue fur emerging below, he's not wearing pants, so clearly they're not going somewhere _that_ classy. As Hank descends to the foyer, two steps at a time, another person starts hurrying down the stairs behind him.

"Sorry we're late," Michael says as he appears in view, adjusting his belt self-consciously. He's wearing what looks like the ill-fitting green suit and yellow striped tie he wore as a detective, and he brightens on seeing Tony. "Oh, hey, you coming too, boss?"

"Uh," Tony says, and looks at himself—barefoot, still probably with grease marks on his face and hands and clothes, "well, I'm obviously dressed for it." He spreads his hands dramatically. "Avengers bonding, I'm not gonna make this awkward by having the purse strings crash the party."

"Oh," Steve says, and he looks a little guilty, "no, you should come. You're an important part of the operation, really—"

Tony tries not to freeze, because that's what his body wants to instantly do, and he's suddenly hyper-aware that all the Avengers are looking at him, and Michael looks concerned too, and it's too much. "That's very kind of you," he says, feeling suddenly awkward, because the Avengers are going out on a bonding event, and Michael's there, but they didn't invite Iron Man and they didn't invite him—which is okay, because Tony's not an Avenger, why _would_ they invite him? Michael's not an Avenger either, but he's determined and strong and doing everything in honor of his brother, so he's worthy, he's absolutely worthy, and oh, Tony's still standing there awkwardly. He needs to do something to diffuse the sudden odd tension. He squints and rapidly adds, "But if you go anywhere with dessert, think of your poor lonely billionaire benefactor who just had to spend twelve hours formally removing a poor deceased training arm?"

Jan grins and Tony feels like he can breathe again. Obviously his awkward moment hasn't made everything _too _awkward. "We'll see what we can do," she promises.

"I'll catch you later about that training arm," Tony says, and forces himself to wave, smile and turn around and head back to the kitchen. He can hear the rustling of the Avengers heading out for their night on the town and he wants to turn back and watch, see if his moment of social awkwardness was as bad as he thinks it was. He slinks into the kitchen and slumps into his chair and stares into nothingness for a moment. He shakes himself and glances over to where Jarvis is cooking away. "Brought it up with the Captain, Jarvis. Let me know if it happens again, I can always add a new security system to the mansion. Stop anyone from coming in who isn't verified first."

"That sounds like a lot of work," Jarvis says.

"Oh, because I'm known for taking it easy," Tony says, stretching his back again. He curls his bare toes into the cold tiles, letting the sensation anchor himself to the moment. Of course the Avengers wouldn't invite Iron Man if they were going out for dinner. They could all wear civilian clothes and blend in, Iron Man couldn't do that. Iron Man can't even eat with them. Well, a straw, he supposes, but that severely limits where you can go. Tony taps his big toes on the tiles in an alternating rhythm. Usually they pick events that Iron Man can join in on, but that's not fair to miss out on something like going out for dinner and drinks just because one of their member is an idiot in a tin can.

Tony sighs. It's ridiculous. He didn't know the Avengers were going out tonight for a social event. It was never in his plans. So why does he feel suddenly like he's missing out on something?

"Jarvis," Tony says, and he hates how thin his voice sounds all of a sudden, "please tell me you're making enough for two."

"I make multiple batches of everything I cook," Jarvis says, cheerfully. "Perils of catering for a group of people who eat like there's a hundred of them. Are you inviting a guest for dinner?"

"Yep," Tony says.

"Shall I fetch you the phone?"

"That might be stupid," Tony says. "Going to all the effort of fetching the phone, dialing our own number, hearing the dial-tone that tells you that you phoned yourself—"

Jarvis turns in surprise. His eyebrows are high and his eyes look moist and _shit_, is Tony this bad at treating the only person in his life that has stuck for him since he was a baby? "Me?"

"Unless you don't want to," Tony says.

"I can't think of anything nicer," Jarvis says, and his smile is so genuine Tony lets himself believe it. It doesn't completely fix the gnawing feeling in Tony's gut that something is horribly wrong, but it wraps that hole within him in a warmth that he can't ignore.

Warmth that hovers as they eat, and share the pick of old stories that hurt the least. Warmth that lingers as Tony climbs the stairs to bed, Jarvis's soft happy laughter still ringing in his ears. Warmth that settles around him as he tapes up the chestplate and sinks into a hot bath, protesting muscles happy to be treated right for once.

Warmth that Tony tries to chase into the morning's gentle sunlight creeping in through his bedroom curtains, urging him to wake.

Warmth that shatters when he wakes up to the morning's news headlines, the colds stamped across newspapers and websites and newsreels in large, bold capital letters:

**ORIGINAL IRON MAN PILOT DEAD.**

* * *

Tony's not given as much time to react as he's expecting. He isn't woken by the alert on his phone, but as soon as he sees his phone flashing, he brings up the news on his tablet in what turns out to be swiftly rising horror. The reports are horrific in the level of detail, and they're wrong, _so _wrong, but Tony's head splinters with the agony of having to wake up and get dressed and _deal _with the situation and he freezes for a long moment in bed, his tablet gripped in his hand. Kevin's face is frozen on the screen, smiling out at him. It's a good picture of him.

Tony swallows. It's not the first time he's had a news headline try to shank him before he's even fully awake. Most of them are nightmares of his own making. He has a process. Get up, get washed, get media-friendly groomed. Get dressed, look sharp, call his public affairs division. Get the script that no doubt is already being worked on by the room of lawyers he pays to wake up at 4am just to deal with his shit. Call a press conference, show up, give his words, and then collapse into his lab for a million hours so he can punch some metal really hard for a long time until the ringing noise obliterates all his thoughts.

The rumors of Iron Man's identity come up every now and again, but usually it's Tony they suspect. For good reason, but Tony will never admit that to them if he has the choice. Sometimes the rumors pick other people, random acquaintances, and they occasionally land near the truth, on people who've worn the suit once or twice, like Happy or Eddie March.

They've never managed to get it so _wrong_ before, really. That's kind of an achievement.

He puts a radio broadcast on as he washes and carefully shaves, not wanting to nick himself and bleed on camera, and it takes five times as long as it should because his hands are shaking. He dresses in his best suit, tugging it on around his shoulders like it's armor, checking and double-checking that the chestplate can't be seen, and pulls out a pair of dress shoes that aren't worn in, that pinch his toes, because sometimes that edge of pain is all that keeps his concentration on track when he has to do something like this.

The radio chimes on, nearly every local station full of the news. They think Kevin was Iron Man. They think Kevin O'Brien—warm-hearted, quick-brained, intelligent, witty, warm and lovely _Kevin O'Brien—_was Iron Man. They think that's who Michael is now. Of course they'll have seen him come into the mansion, running in the park with Steve, going out with Beast last night who can't hide he's an Avenger like the others can, and have come to the conclusion he's the mysterious bodyguard. That seems logical. Further digging will have shown Michael's been a cop, that he couldn't have been Iron Man, but hey, maybe his dead brother _could_ have. Add in some incidental sightings of Tony and Kevin together, and the media have added two and two together and come out with five in a way that is a punch to the gut.

Tony can barely focus as he stands in front of the mirror to put his tie on. He hates everything he can see in the shiny surface and he turns around so he can swallow back the urge to put his fist through his own reflection. He keeps his tie gripped in one hand instead as he takes a deep breath and calls his company. He informs them it's a bunch of crock and to work on that as a statement, and that they need the press to respect the O'Brien's privacy in their period of grief. They want him to go straight to headquarters to figure out the action plan of how to proceed. Standard operating procedure for every Iron Man rumor that hits this level of fever pitch, but this time doesn't feel standard. They tell him his car service is already on its way to fetch him, and Tony's glad he doesn't have to drive himself, because he's not sure if he can. It would probably be a mistake to just climb into his armor and fly because in his current state it's even odds on him crashing into a building face first.

Kevin's face is going to be on every TV screen, every newspaper, every conspiracy website on the planet. And it's going to be there because he's dead. His face will be inescapable. Tony's going to be reminded of one of the worst days of his life over and over for days, because the news leaps before it looks, because the world isn't fair, because Kevin isn't allowed to rest in peace. His chest feels tight and he quickly calls his security department and organizes a patrol to keep Kevin's gravestone protected and safe. When he hangs up from the phone call he vomits neatly into his toilet and has to wash his face again. He rinses his mouth out with water because he knows it would be a mistake to brush his teeth after the acid hit.

Tony wants to run and hide, but he knows he has to get to Stark International and cut this thing in the bud before it grows into something wild and uncontrollable, so he heads out of his room, his tie still in one hand, and heads across the landing to descend the stairs.

He's so focused on getting to work, on getting this _done, _that he has no chance to anticipate what happens next. Namely, Hank's furry hands on his shoulders as he gets slammed into a wall.

Tony can't even shout because all the wind has been knocked out of him. He just gapes uselessly, uncomprehending, and he tries to breathe even though he can't, because there's a forceful furry hand on his throat. He can only tell it's Hank because of the disconnected blurs of blue, the touch of fur against his cheeks. He can hear a rushing in his ears that's familiar. Tony's had enough crushing weight dropped on him to realize how oxygen deprivation feels. His body twitches automatically, trying to keep him alive even if Tony's brain is still too deeply in shock and can't engage in that course of action.

"Hank, let him go," a distant voice orders. It's high pitched. Jan? Is it Jan? Tony's vision blurs further. Maybe it's his mom. That would be nice. "Dammit, Hank. _Beast. _Drop him! Now!"

Hank snarls, hot in Tony's ear, and suddenly the world drops away and Tony hits the stairs with a thump, grasping uselessly at his own throat, his vision still a mess of blurs. He struggles to breathe. When he looks up he's surrounded, figures towering over him. Steve. Clint. Jan. Simon. Hank. Staring at him. Matching looks of anger on their faces.

"Is it true?" Clint asks. "Dammit, Stark, _tell_ us it's not true."

"Iron Man can't be dead," Simon says. "You can't have just _replaced_ him like he's nothing, like he's no one."

Tony lurches his head up to face them and he laughs, the sound shocking out of him, bullet-sharp, surprising himself as much as the Avengers around him. He runs his hands over his face and shakes his head and when he tries to talk, his voice fails him. Probably because of the whole just-nearly-been-strangled-to-death-by-a-mutant thing, he thinks, and wants to laugh again, because otherwise he'll cry, and as vulnerable as he's feeling right now, crying would just rip him apart.

Like he deserves to be.

"You talked to me over his grave," Steve says in this breathy whisper that still sounds as loud as Jan shouting at Hank. "Over his grave, Tony. If he was my friend too, you shouldn't– You _really _shouldn't have done that."

Tony looks up at him, and his eyes are burning, and he opens his mouth to say something that will strip away the look in Steve's eyes, because that level of pain on Steve's face, it's unbearable, but his voice is gone and he just shakes his head.

"Let me at him," Hank snarls.

"Before you kill someone that more than one person would be angry about you killing," Jarvis's voice says shakily from far behind them, "perhaps I can entreat you to shift your attentions to the television."

There's a larger television in the dining room, a screen they usually use for meetings when there are too many Avengers around for the control room, and that's where they head now. Jarvis hurries to Tony's side, supporting him up, and Tony looks at him wordlessly in appreciation. Jarvis just nods and holds him carefully by the elbow, assisting him until he can get into the room, and Tony chooses to lean against the back wall as the others choose chairs. Simon pulls the screen down while Clint is the one to bring up the news onto the projector.

Tony can feel his body trying to shake again as Kevin's face fills the screen and his eyes burn. He clenches his jaw as a way of reminding himself he has to be strong and stay upright.

"Reports have come flooding in overnight," the anchor announces, as a montage of pictures of Kevin show behind them, along with some footage of Kevin and Tony that they must have dragged out of somewhere, "and this morning that seem to confirm the report that the original Iron Man pilot was a man named Kevin O'Brien, who was an employee at Stark International, first at the Lakani branch, then moved later to the New York International headquarters of the company. Kevin's tragic death at an accident on the compound seems to coincide with a short period of time when Iron Man disappeared. Kevin's brother Michael, a New York detective, left his job soon after Kevin's death and has, as we've since learned, filed for a sabbatical from his job, which seems to coincide very suspiciously with Iron Man's return to American skies– hang on, we have breaking news– as we reported earlier, yes, Michael O'Brien himself will be making a public statement, right from outside the Avengers mansion."

The screen changes then and it's their mansion, and a crowd of journalists, and Michael's stepping up to a podium, and _when did he organize this_? Tony's brain hosts a hurricane with no sense of borders.

"My brother Kevin," Michael says, and his voice is shaky but his gaze is strong as he looks out, "was a hero. But he was a hero of his own making. He was not, and has never been, Iron Man's pilot. What my brother was… It's hard to put into words. He was strong and clever and so smart and the world is so much _less_ because he can't be here. Kevin was working towards being a hero like Iron Man, sure, working with Tony Stark to develop a project known as Guardsman. Kevin wanted to help protect the planet, _like _Iron Man, but focused more heavily on defense. Kevin just wanted to help people. So in his honor, yes, I will be wearing one of Tony Stark's new armors, the Guardsman. It's currently under development. I'll be the Guardsman in honor of my brave, beautiful brother. But neither of us are, or ever have been, Iron Man."

"So you're confirming you're _not_ Iron Man," a journalist yells.

"I'm not Iron Man," Michael says. "I know the real Iron Man pilot. He's not dead, I can assure you of that. Kevin would never forgive it if I let anyone believe he was Iron Man. Kevin was one of Iron Man's biggest fans. Saying Kevin is Iron Man is something I and my brother believe would be a disservice to the real one, who is more heroic and self-sacrificing than you could even believe."

"You know him?"

"Amazing guy." Michael nods. "Real self-esteem issues, though. Never met a fella so down on himself." He looks to one side. "I think we're done here."

Michael strides off from the podium, heading towards the mansion doors in an explosion of camera flashes, and Jan quickly gets up to go let him in.

"Shit," Clint says, and glances awkwardly over towards Tony. "Sorry, man."

Before anyone else can say anything, Jan hurries in with Michael.

"I'm so sorry I talked to the press without consulting you," Michael says, going directly to Tony's side, looking up at him with a desperation Tony understands. "I couldn't let them believe a lie. Not when Kevin was a hero in his _own_ right. And I know you probably didn't want to announce the Guardsman yet—"

"It's fine," Tony says tersely. "I'm sorry for the stress you've been through this morning."

Michael nods. "I gotta call my dad, see how he's dealing. I'm sure the press hasn't been kind."

"Try and get him to call their phone company, ask for a log of received numbers," Tony says. "My lawyers can go after them for harassment."

"Will do, boss," Michael says, and then pauses, seeing something in Tony's face that causes him to worry. "Hey, you okay?"

"Probably a little more okay than you," Tony says quietly. Michael's face crinkles into a sad smile. "Go, I'm gonna meet with my lawyers, see what we need to do to proceed." He purses his lips. "You've probably legally tied me over a barrel with ensuring you _do_ get the Guardsman armor when it's done, which I'm sure wasn't your intention."

"Didn't cross my mind," Michael says airily, but he smiles at Tony and leaves the room.

As the door closes, it feels like the hint of warmth he'd brought in disappears along with him.

Tony looks up to see a ring of apologetic faces and he feels sharp and rough, like he's leaning against sandpaper and not the wall.

Steve stands up, his face awash with sorrow.

"We overreacted," Steve says, stiffly, and then he takes a deep breath. "It was just the idea that our friend had died and we didn't know—It was just so infuriating. But that's no excuse for our behavior."

Tony tries not to flinch at his words. Iron Man is good. Iron Man is all the best parts of Tony. It is nice to know they think they would miss Iron Man when he dies. But would they miss Tony Stark? After today, Tony doubts it. But has he really given them _reason_ to miss him? They should hate him, Tony thinks. The things he's done. The things he hasn't been able to stop. Kevin's just the tip of a rotten iceberg.

Steve leans down and elbows Hank, and Hank yelps and looks at Tony with a wince. "Sorry for, uh, you know," Hank manages. "Shouldn't have done it."

"Maybe you should," Tony says. He feels dizzy. His chest feels tight. He holds their gazes and he burns with it. "You should be angry with me. I deserve it."

"Tony," Steve starts, soft, but Tony turns his gaze directly to Steve, and apparently it's as painful to see as Tony's aiming for, because Steve falls silent.

"You should be angry with me," Tony repeats, and his voice is sharper than a knife could be. He lifts his burning eyes and fixes them directly on Steve, knowing who to hit his next words with to cause the most damage. "If Iron Man ever dies, believe me—I won't tell you."

He takes advantage of their shock to leave the room before any of them can stop him.


	4. Chapter 4

I have pressed through in my own right,

I have offered my style to every one—I have journeyed with confident step

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

Some of the shadier news networks keep hinting that the press conference was a cover-up and the conspiracy sites all still list Iron Man's identity as Michael O'Brien, but the world seems pretty assured by Michael's press conference, and it helps that unlike Tony's rehearsed press, Michael's off-the-cuff delivery has been perceived as complete honesty. It also helps he's a detective, albeit an inactive one, lending the truth a legitimacy even well-polished spin from Tony's PR department couldn't give it.

It's a pity that modern America needed its truth polished and shining to make it believable, but at least that's what they got this time with Michael's impromptu decision. Of course, Tony was personally raked over the coals by his experts, but that's an old song he can at least tune out. He wishes he had the same talent for his own brain.

Which, yes, he knows he needs to apologize. The reminder of Kevin's death had scraped him raw, like his skin had been peeled off, and every single photo and headline was lemon juice being poured on the wound. But even though he was nearly strangled at the misunderstanding, it was no excuse for Tony to lash out.

Well, if Tony knows how to apologize to people that mean something to him, he… would have to finish that sentence with a lie. He doesn't know how. His usual way of doing it when he likes people is just to hurl expensive gifts at them and hope they're distracted enough to take his "so, uh, yeah, here" as the apology it's supposed to be. When it's people who don't matter, Tony's good at florid displays of attrition which have zero degree of authenticity.

The trouble is, he doesn't think the Avengers could be impressed by anything involving large amounts of money. Well. Maybe Clint. But he needs to apologize to all of them for letting them think he wouldn't tell them if Iron Man dies.

It wasn't a lie. That's probably why he was able to say it with such strength and burning conviction. Tony Stark will not be the one to tell that Iron Man is dead. He just can't explain it to them that he won't be the one _personally_ telling them Iron Man is dead. Because he is Iron Man. Tony thinks about telling them the truth, but he can't risk being kicked out from the Avengers. Being Iron Man is everything to him. He can't have that taken away from him. He refuses to.

But he can make sure there's a system in place where they're informed of his death. A video, Tony thinks, is probably too melodramatic. Which is why he finds himself perched on a stool in his lab eyeballing one of his test cameras nervously.

He fidgets, hops off the stool to double-check he's locked his lab down so no one can come in, and when he's sure of that he slowly slopes back to his stool and eyeballs the camera lens warily.

"If you're watching this," Tony says, "then Iron Man is dead." He smiles at the camera, aiming for his press-friendly, all-teeth smile, but it just looks ghoulish. Tony grimaces and looks at the tiny digital grimacing Tony on the camera's flipscreen. "The reason I am sending this video to you is because—this is ridiculous, this is the most stupid thing in the world, what was I even thinking?" He scowls and slams the camera off. Dammit. That's a fail.

How would Jarvis apologize if he had to? Tony thinks back a few nights to the spaghetti Jarvis made for them both. Jarvis would probably cook him something. Tony can cook, and he's good at it, but he's too impatient to be a _great_ cook. He probably shouldn't cook something for the Avengers, because they're used to Jarvis's superb skills, and Tony's attempts would be sub-par.

He should make something. That's what Tony Stark _does_. It's his version of cooking. He'll just have to cook them up something good in the lab. It takes him much too long to think of the arm in the combat simulation room he had to pull out of the whole system and he nods. No one else in the world can make equipment strong enough to stand up to the strength of the Avengers. He supposes that makes it sort-of a multi-million dollar gift, if he calculates in his time and expertise. But it's a _hand-made_ multi-million dollar gift, so that should count for something. It's not Tony's fault that his hobby is crafting brilliant and impressive technological wonders.

Tony carves out four hours in his schedule to fit in making the arm himself down in the larger development room, even though last time he delegated out the separate parts to different facilities. He's learned to let only parts of his plans out to his workers at a time. If the whole blueprints are available, it's easier for villains to steal his tech and manipulate it to their own ends. If the left hand doesn't know what the right hand is doing, then it's an added layer of security. Tony's impossibly tired of his designs and his intellectual creations being stolen for evil. Which reminds him that he needs to check in with Sitwell again, see if there's any progress on the stolen Iron Man armors.

Later, though. Tony wants to deliver the apology to the Avengers, and even though the Avengers will never know he's going to _actually_ hand-deliver the whole thing, Tony still wants to go to that effort, so he goes down into his lab as himself, and heads out as Iron Man, dragging the training arm up to the roof before attaching some additional cables and jetting up into the sky.

It's been a few days since he was last in the armor. Quiet periods for the Avengers happen and Tony gets so hyper-focused on creating new things and catching up on paperwork and meetings that he almost forgets he should also do the important things. Like flying. Flying is very important. Tony wishes he could see what he looks like, jetting through the sky with a massive metal arm. It even has five fingers, albeit ones that do very different things depending on who tries to attack the arm first.

Tony lands on the roof of the mansion and drops down the secret hatch that pulls back to allow him into the aircraft maintenance storage room. He balances on the nose-cone of the improved quinjet he'd been working on last year and abandoned for… Tony can't remember, but it was probably a supervillain attack. It's awful that the villains all kind of congeal together until one vague unpleasant memory remains. But do they really all deserve to be remembered? Tony doesn't think so. He uses the suit to lower the arm to the ground and then calls for elevator A. It's awkward to fit it in, and he regrets that he didn't have the equipment in the sub-basement to make the arm on-site, because then he could have used the mansion's large hydraulic lift, but needs must.

The hallway is clear and Tony can see the light above the combat simulation room that means it's occupied, but the red DO NOT ENTER sign isn't lit, so he puts the arm over his shoulder and heaves it towards the double doors, pushing them open by kicking at the door. He's met by a somewhat familiar sight. Steve is standing with his arms crossed, observing what's going on. Michael's there in the rig and Jan is flying around in her smallest form. It looks like Steve has Michael trying to jump up and catch her, because there's what looks like a butterfly net in Michael's hand. Simon's playing mediator to where Clint and Hank seem to be wrestling and Tony's not entirely sure who is training who in that scenario, to be honest. At least Simon's strength and reflexes are a good match if the training gets out of hand.

Tony focuses on getting the new arm into the room without banging the door up any more than it already has been. He settles it down carefully in the corner and then crosses the floor to where Simon's abandoned Clint and Hank to try the butterfly net game with Jan. Jan's laughing delightedly as she evades him. Michael's now doing some sort of complicated jump and forward roll combination move back and forth across a mat. He's definitely improving.

"Good morning," Steve says, and he actually looks pleased to see him. Tony's surprised until he remembers he's in the Iron Man armor. It's Iron Man that Steve's pleased to see. Of course.

"Brought a peace offering from the boss," Tony says. "Gonna have to go back and get some other things from headquarters in a bit, so I'll let him know it's here so he can install it. I'm sorry I can't stay to assist him myself. Would you be able to help him when he gets here?"

"Of course," Steve says, immediately. He nods at Michael. "Who said you could stop? Twenty more reps. Hop to it."

"I thought my fitness instructor at the academy was a beast, but compared to you, Cap, he was a marshmallow," Michael huffs, but he winks when he catches Iron Man's mask turned in his direction, clearly enjoying the challenge. Or just amused at seeing Tony's secret identity antics in person.

"I'll see you later," Tony says.

"Sooner rather than later, I hope," Steve says. "Haven't seen that much of you recently."

"Well," Tony says, "considering I'm magically appearing in two places at once right this second–" He points at Michael where he's making careful laps around the room in the rig with measured jumps.

Steve huffs ruefully. "Don't mock us, tin man. We thought you were dead for a hot second. Clint even shed a tear."

"One tear," Clint pipes up. "It was one very manly tear. It rolled down my cheek and landed in my lunch. You owe me a new sandwich, soggy bread is the worst."

Tony laughs and turns back to Steve. "Give my boss a note next time you want me by, I'll try and make it. Things are a bit hectic at SI at the moment, that's all."

"Anything we can help with?" Steve says.

"Apart from not strangling your boss again," Clint offers from across the room, getting immediately slammed to the mat by Hank taking advantage of the distraction. "Hey, that wasn't fair! I was apologizing for your bad anger management, and you use _that_ moment to hurt me? Not cool, man."

"Yeah I used that moment," Hank says, leaping back upright and grinning at Clint as Clint struggles back to his feet. "And I'll apologize again, for _myself, _when I see Stark next. It's not your place to apologize for me. I'm a hot-head, not a bad guy, Stark'll know I'm sorry. But if you wanna keep stepping on my furry toes, I'm gonna keep taking you where you belong."

Clint scowls at him and steps forward with his arms wide, ready to keep going. "Somewhere nice and warm? Barbados. I'm thinking Barbados."

"_Down,_" Hank clarifies, and slams Clint down into the mats with an audible crack.

"I'm too old for this," Clint says, smacking the mat and tapping out. "Simon, you were supposed to be making sure I came out of this in one piece."

"Oops, my bad," Simon says, still swiping the net at Jan. She giggles as he misses. "In my defense, this is fun. We should add it into regular rotation."

"Nobody can catch me," Jan beams.

Steve leans in closer to Tony, smirking. "I haven't told them yet that Jan blasted a hole in the net an hour ago. They literally _cannot_ catch her."

"Evil," Tony compliments. "I like it." He pauses for a second, and then decides to go for it, because what's the use of a dual-identity if it doesn't help him sometimes. "Do you want me to tell Mr. Stark it's safe to come in now? Or do you think it would be better if I told him to wait until you're all done."

Steve turns to look at him sharply, his expression something Tony hasn't seen on his face often before, so it takes a moment to parse. It's horror. "I didn't know it was that bad. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I—I should have been more proactive trying to let him know–"

"No, no, Cap, it's fine," Tony says. "I promise. He's just—unsure of his welcome, I suppose?"

Steve stares like Tony's speaking a foreign language, then he sighs. "I can understand that," he says, "however unhappy, we reacted badly. He's never given us a reason for that level of doubt."

Tony stares at him guiltily. "Eh, just pretend like it never happened and you'll be fine. Best way to roll with the boss." Tony is on such good terms with denial that he probably owes it several drinks.

"Denial isn't my speed," Steve says, doubtfully. "But I'll give it a try if you think it's the best play."

"Good man," Tony says, clapping Steve on the back. "I'm sorry I have to go."

Steve nods. "It's understandable. You have to do your job."

"See you later?" Tony says, already walking away.

"What the heck," Simon yelps from behind him, "Jan, did you put a hole in this thing?"

Jan laughs hysterically as Simon howls in outrage.

"Sooner rather than later, if you have the choice," Steve says, smiling.

Tony quirks a smirk at Steve because the mask hides it. "Sooner, probably," he says, and leaves.

It's always awkward doing the changeover in the mansion, but it's easier knowing the Avengers are all occupied in the combat simulation room. Tony hurries to the elevator, goes up to the second floor, and jogs to his personal rooms because there's no one around to watch him. Besides, he can always fall back on his standard "I'm just going to fetch Mr. Stark." Then when Tony emerges from his office, if anyone asks, Tony shrugs and says, "Iron Man went out the window." It's happened enough that the rhythm of it doesn't even feel much like a lie anymore. That's probably a problem.

Tony collapses the armor back into the chestplate and sheds his work clothes in favor of a suit, feeling like he needs something to protect him, and it's while he's sliding on his jacket that he catches a glimpse of his own reflection in his closet mirror. He moves away from it, because denial is more difficult when faced with undeniable evidence of the moment he's trying to forget. The bruising around his neck is almost pretty, the mottled blues and purples already starting to turn sallow at the edges.

Tony deserves anything the Avengers want to throw at him, whether it is rage-induced or thought-out. He tilts his head up and squares his shoulders. He's not going to shy away from this.

* * *

"Is it safe to come in?" Tony asks from the doorway to the combat simulation room.

It turns out to be the wrong thing to say, actually. And not just from the way a tight sadness washes over Steve's face when Steve hears the words, like the reminder of their anger at him is something difficult to bear. Tony fights to keep his expression blank, lest he reveal way too much he's not ready for, and he reacts as if he hasn't seen anything odd on Steve's face. That there isn't anything choking the atmosphere worse than blue superhuman hands around Tony's fragile human neck.

"Iron Man said you might need some help installing the replacement arm," Steve says, striding over to him, and Tony's flush with relief—Steve is acting like nothing bad has happened, and that's exactly what he needs to keep going.

"It's a little bit heavy for one person," Tony says, and nods at the arm, briefly explaining what he needs. As Steve, Simon and Hank carry the arm up into place, Tony crosses to the command console, lowering the support the arm attaches to so they don't have to try and climb up into the roof to fix it that way. He removes the amendment to its programming that he'd added the day before and then crosses the floor to get the arm connected. It's a lot easier with three guys with super-strength lifting it into place, and when Tony has trouble with a smaller connection slot, Jan shrinks again and climbs in and tightens the bolt for him. There's something to be said for having a team at his back, Tony thinks.

As soon as the arm's attached, Tony hurries over to the command console.

"Might want to step back, lady and gentlemen," he says, punching in the command for it to rise back into the ceiling. He types in the short command code for a test run and grins when the arm descends and splinters out into the five branches. Simon yelps as the flamethrower arm lets out a test curl of fire and pats at his hair frantically to make sure it's okay. The test run protocol runs to perfection, just as Tony envisioned it would. Each part flips open and closed again before the arm folds back up into a single unit and pulls back up into the ceiling, hiding itself away.

"Well it looks sturdier than the last one," Jan says. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, Wasp," Tony grins and looks thoughtful. "You wanna give it a full test run?"

"We can do that," Steve says, eyeballing the ceiling hatch where the arm descends from thoughtfully. "Mike, you want to try too?" When Michael shrugs, Steve glances over at Tony. "We have any subroutines in place for the combat equipment that would work for him?"

Tony wrinkles his nose thoughtfully and scrolls through his database of routines. "I've got one for Jacques for when he wanted to train without his sword. I can set that one to 60%."

Steve nods. "Should do it." He pauses thoughtfully, looking at Clint, Jan, Hank, Simon and Michael. Michael's shifting on his feet uneasily, but there's an excited look in his eyes that reminds Tony sharply of Kevin, so Tony keeps his gaze on the screen as he plugs the routines into the console.

Tony pauses at the next menu. "Any particular play you want, Cap?"

Steve tilts his head to think. "Scenario 46 Alpha 9?"

"_Alpha_ 9?" Tony clarifies, and shakes his head. "You're my kind of crazy, Captain. About to load it up now. In 5, 4, 3–"

Tony tries to continue his countdown, his finger hovering over the start key, but something drowns him out. A high-pitched noise that makes Tony's eyeballs weirdly hurt. It takes him a second to process the meaning.

"Is this part of the routine?" Michael yells, about the noise.

"No," Tony yells. "The perimeter's been breached, the system's picked up something unusual–"

"Avengers," Steve yells immediately as he sprints over to Tony's side, "_assemble_." Tony brings up the schematics of the mansion with the warning system overlaid. There are four lights flashing around the mansion. Two are amber lights, slowly pulsing, one is a white spot indicating something large, and one is a red light. The front doorway's been damaged somehow. Tony immediately flips up a camera display, the one high in the foyer that covers the doorway, and Tony's fingers clench into the keyboard for a moment, because there are six intruders, all wearing black, thick goggles and gas masks, oxygen tanks n their back, and a thick smoke already crawling around them and rising to the camera.

Then there's a yell through the intercom that chills Tony's blood cold. "Intruders, Mr. Stark, Avengers, _intruders—ahh!_"

"Jarvis!" Tony blurts, and he already wants to head to the door, but Steve spreads his hand out into a star and puts it in front of Tony's face. The movement is so odd and Tony is so wired with worry for Jarvis that he freezes immediately, staring at Steve's hand nonplussed.

"We'll get him," Steve says. "I promise."

Tony nods and Steve's already running to the door and picking up his shield, hanging ready on a hook by the wall. The Avengers tend to train in uniform. It's helpful for moments like this one, Tony supposes, as Steve quickly slips his mask on as he runs. "Wonder Man, you're with me. Jan, shrink, go high. Clint, get your bow, take up the rear. Beast, I need you to get Mike and Tony to safety, okay? Sub-basement two, get them on a sub, then come and join the battle."

"Sure, send the rookie to do the boring parts," Hank sighs, but he hangs back as the other four start running to get to the main floor.

"I'll try and call for Iron Man," Tony yells at Steve's retreating figure. There's a loud noise like an explosion that slightly rocks the combat simulation room and Tony suddenly feels like he's in the heart of one, because if Jarvis is hurt, Tony's going to lose his mind.

Michael shoots him an odd look, which Tony returns until he remembers, oh, yeah. Michael knows he is Iron Man. Tony's developed a keen sense of distinction between himself and Iron Man, but he supposes Michael still hasn't really learned yet that Iron Man is the hero. Tony Stark… isn't.

"You heard Cap, we need to go," Beast mutters. Tony nods, knowing once they get down to the sub he can set Michael away in it and come back in his armor, and the three of them head for the door.

A complicated alarm noise is all the warning Tony gets before he realizes something is incredibly wrong. Tony has enough time to lurch back to the console and check for the source of the problem, and then he leaps up and vaults over the top of the console, throwing himself bodily at Michael and Hank both.

The surprise gives him the momentum to topple them both over and out of the way, just as the missile hits.

* * *

Tony's lying flat on the floor when his consciousness returns, and the room around him is _massively_ different.

Tony doesn't think it's one of his own missiles that's slammed into the mansion, but it wouldn't have been a surprise if it was. He thinks if it _had_ been one of his own missiles, he probably wouldn't have been alive to see it, so there's a weird kind of comfort in that. They've probably been hit by some sort of ground-launched missile, Tony thinks, squinting at the 20-foot hole in the combat simulation room. It must have taken out the first floor cloakroom from the location of the hole, because Tony can see sky beyond the cloud of dust filling the remains of the combat simulation room. The room is covered in debris, bricks from the outer wall, plaster and wood from the ceiling. The damage has been relatively localized, indicating something neat in its execution, like a tandem shaped charged warhead.

Tony's kind of stunned. The world is a blur of noise and sound and Tony hits his left hand against the floor. Something catches on his skin and tears. The pain at least centers him, makes him try and focus. He can't breathe. Maybe it's something to do with the dust rising in the air. He looks around him and can't see much from where he is. He can wiggle his toes and flex his knees so nothing down there is broken, and if there's nothing broken, he can stand. He _has _to stand. Tony grits his teeth. He gets to his feet woozily, his hands slipping on debris as he pushes himself up. His vision goes exceptionally blurry until he rubs at his face with his hands and they come away bloody. Some sort of head injury. The day just keeps getting better. Tony tries to gauge what has happened, even as his brain shrieks at the nightmare of it. They could be trapped, and they're definitely in danger and he can't put on his armor because the Beast is still around, and who knows who could be watching?

No. Panicking isn't the right thing to do here. Tony needs to do what he does in every terrible situation he finds himself in. Assess the immediate situation. Predict the upcoming timeline. Adjust accordingly. He scans the state of the combat simulation room. The hole in the ceiling, jutting into the wall, is too high for an easy escape, but the missile has cut off their usual entrance and exit to the room, debris from the missile heaped against the door.

"Not good, not good," Tony mutters under his breath. He casts around. Michael's half-covered under some debris but when Tony staggers over some shattered bricks and wood to get to him, it's only wood from the window frames, a little glass, and shredded chunks of some training mats which did not fare well in their little tête-à-tête with a missile. Michael groans and lets Tony lift him out of the mess, and then they both turn and frantically look for Hank.

Tony sees a tell-tale shade of blue and lurches towards it, but Hank extracts himself from his situation in a roaring crash of energy, shouting and baring his teeth in fury as he bodily hurls a large chunk of concrete from his body. Hank's bleeding, the red a sharp contrast to the bright blue of his fur, and Tony must be disassociating because he's fixated on how he thought Hank would bleed blue. But of course he bleeds red, he's a mutant, but mutants have oxygenated blood. Well, a lot of them do. Logan's blood might be half beer, but Wolverine's always been in a world of his own.

"Mr. Stark," Hank says, and then louder, "Mr. Stark! Mike! Get him somewhere safe! They're coming in! I'm going after them!"

The X-Men were coming? Tony blinks. How delightful. He feels someone yanking on his arm and it's Michael, and Tony snaps back to reality, a high-pitched ringing in his ears, because there's a couple of figures at the hole in the wall, staring in at them. The figures have guns. The figures are not X-Men. _They're coming in_. Unfriendlies. Tony stares up, uncomprehending, and it's Michael this time that pulls Tony out of the way, yanking him along as they scramble to hide behind the bricks and debris blocking the main doors, out of range for now of the gunfire. As long as the Beast can keep them outside, that is. Hank has already scaled the wall with his strength, and the gunshot noises increase, and then there's more yelling.

"Stay down and I won't hurt you," Hank yells.

"Give us O'Brien and no-one gets hurt," one of the intruders shouts, except then there's a loud crashing noise and a satisfied noise from Hank. Tony tries to squint over the bricks to see what's going on to be greeted by the sight of an intruder flying through the hole, and Tony clenches his fist, ready to grab a brick to throw, but the intruder's already unconscious and disarmed—he's just gone for a short flight courtesy of the Beast.

"They want me," Michael says, eyes widening. "Why would they want _me_?"

"They probably still think you're Iron Man," Tony says. "Sorry." He thinks about it. "And, well, Iron Man's got a lot of enemies and you admitted on prime time television you know who he is. People would risk a lot to get that information."

Michael looks haunted. Tony gets that. Michael shakes his head, and says, "What was that about a sub? Can we still reach that?"

"It's two basements down. If we could somehow get downstairs, we can get out through the river unseen," Tony pants, his chest tight with the effort just to gulp down oxygen. The dust in the air might not just be dust—the intruders upstairs were using some sort of smoke. Maybe the intruders just outside the hole in wall have put some inside and it's got some sort of gas in that makes it difficult to breathe?

"Do you mean it's a submarine? You have a submarine in _New York_?"

"Yeah," Tony says, nonchalantly shrugging. "Since I fixed up the quinjets we haven't used it so much. I've been thinking of refurbishing it to something else, maybe an airbus shuttle launch—" He falters, realizing his head's hurting much more than it should, and his chest feels tight, and he feels sick, like he does when the chestplate's reached the end of its charge and he needs to recharge it in the next minute or he'll—

Tony's fingers move to his chestplate in panic, and he freezes. The debris that landed on him… It must have damaged something. He moves his fingers quickly and efficiently to diagnose the issue and he wants to laugh and cry all at once, because it's the power cells. Every single one of them has been cracked. Just his luck, really. It explains why he's still alive. He'd been at 90% charge when hit but without the power cells to hold the charge, the chestplate right now is operating on its emergency reserves, and when they run out… He needs to be plugged in directly to the wall, stat. Tony's breathing shallows as he tries to think if he can make it on his own and he can't. Shit. _Shit._ What a time to be on the brink of death? Tony would laugh if he had the energy.

"Jan's fighting outside now, I think," Michael says. "That woman is a marvel, isn't she?"

Tony tries to look but his vision is a blur of motion. He guesses the blue streak and the yellow streak he can see blurring across the gap are probably the Beast and the Wasp going to town on the villains, but there's a pain in Tony's throat now that feels like he just chugged a full cup of acid, and he slumps. Tony fights hard to breathe, and he grits his teeth, and then grasps Michael's arm tight in his hand with the last bit of strength he's going to have left for a while.

"I know it's a hell of a time to ask a favor, but I need you to do something," Tony says.

"What? As soon as it's safe to get out, if you let me know where to go, I can go get Iron Man, I'm sure I can–" Michael hesitates. "Y'know. Like before. A few hours didn't hurt last time."

"You might have to," Tony allows, even though he feels like he has to rip the words out of himself, "but right now I need you to shut up and do something for me." Michael looks like he's about to protest, but Tony grimaces. "I'm about to die. I need you to revive me."

"The _fuck_?" Michael whispers, staring at Tony in horror. "Are you joking?"

"I'm really not," Tony says, keeping his voice low and quiet. He stares into Michael's eyes, willing him to understand Tony's not messing around. "Listen. Look at the wall right behind us, there's three black panels. See them? I need you to remove the middle one. Underneath are four gray boxes. The bottom-left one pulls out, you need to pull hard. I'm going to need you to remove the cap off the yellow and the red cylindrical protuberances you find in there, they unscrew to the right. Inside will be two cables that pull out about two or three meters each, you'll need to drag me closer. I'm going to pass out before you can manage all of this, don't worry about that. Under my shirt, there's the chestplate I told you about. Lift up the right flap, be careful of any wiring that looks like it's turned black, and insert the yellow wire into the yellow slot, the red wire in the red slot, flip the three rightmost switches in the recess you got the cables from, and step the fuck back. It'll look bad, I know it will and I'm sorry for that. I need you to let that run for a minute and then flip the rightmost switch back to the up position. I'm sorry I can't repeat—"

Tony may have managed to get out what he needs to say, but he skipped the part where it was going to hurt, and he's probably about to make that very obvious, because when the pain hits, Tony can't hide it as well as he hopes. The world spins and the pressure on his chest is immense, he can't breathe. It's like being strangled by a thousand angry Beasts at once.

The pain radiates until his entire body is nothing _but_ pain. He's vaguely aware of being dragged by the arms, and that he's probably making horrible sounds, but he's lost all control of his body, and then he can feel cold air hitting what remains exposed of his chest around the plate, and then he hears grunting which is probably his own, and pounding noises at the wall, and the pain is a fire and then it's darkness, blessed darkness, and Tony feels like he's reaching for it, and if he just lets go at the right time he can land in its welcoming depths, and he feels like it's just there, just at his fingertips, he's almost there, _so close_–

When consciousness creeps back in, it's like a hangover, and someone's stomping by his head with large heavy army boots, but maybe that's just his blood pounding in his ears. Pain doesn't seem a big enough word to cover it. His vision is a blur but he thinks he can see Michael, crouching by the wall, looking horrified. There are all the usual sounds of an Avengers fight, both muffled and magnified at the same time, and Tony doesn't know if it's his vision or the dust of the shattered brickwork obscuring what he can see. This fight is going to need some epic clean-up of more than one variety.

Tony tries to cough and it's agony, and he gags instead, his mouth tasting like blood. That doesn't bode well, but he can't think about that right now. He needs to make sure they're safe, and although Jan and Beast are valiantly guarding them, they're obviously struggling, because more gunfire makes it into the combat simulation room. If they get overwhelmed, Tony's a sitting (lying? _dying?_) duck.

"How long was I gone?" Tony asks.

Michael laughs but it's hysteric and high-pitched. "Five minutes."

Shit. Well, Tony's had worse. "Good," he says.

"You have a pretty messed up definition of good."

"Brain starts to die after six minutes without oxygen," Tony says.

"I hate that you even know that," Michael says. He glances back over his shoulder to the hole. "Sounds like the Avengers are getting a handle on it. When can I move you, get you to a hospital?"

"Can't," Tony manages, and forces his next words out even though they burn his raw throat. "You move me, I die. Can't move. For twenty minutes at least."

"Shit," Michael says. "Why am I not surprised you haven't improved a device that's only function is to help you?"

Tony can't quite compute that. He files it away to think about later, if he remembers. Ha, if they even survive. The mansion's always felt safer than it should, considering it's just bricks and mortar beneath Tony's security systems. Not many people are brave enough to challenge the Avengers when they have the home advantage. Maybe the Grim Reaper incident has just made people braver about that. Proved to the world the mansion isn't impenetrable.

"It works just fine," Tony says, and his vision focuses just in time to see Michael's look of pure skepticism. It looks yellow.

No, wait, that's Jan, flying back into the room and growing full-size when she comes next to them. She's panting and there's a streak of blood on her face, and Tony looks at her in worry, but it doesn't seem to be her own.

"Okay, we're safe for now," Jan says.

"Jarvis?" Tony manages to ask.

"Safe," Jan says, immediately. "He was in the kitchen and fled through the pantry."

Tony's breathing still hurts, but the pressure on his chest lifts, just a little. "Good," he says, and struggles to sit up, and that's when Jan notices what's going on, and Tony looks up just in time to see her face drain of all color.

"No," Jan says, her mouth going slack. "No, that's not—That's not possible, you—You were _better_, Tony, you—" Her hands go to her mouth and she shakes her head, her eyes wet. "I'm going to get Cap."

"No, don't—" Tony starts, but it's too late, she's already shrunk and flown off. He grimaces. Dammit. This isn't going to be good. He glances ruefully at Michael. "Can you help me sit up?"

Now they know they're not going to be shot at, Michael's movements are much more confident. "I guess this was good training for becoming the Guardsman," Michael mutters. "I suppose you guys get shot at more in a week than my entire precinct does all year."

Tony winces apologetically. "Still want in?"

"This convinces me more than ever," Michael says. "I'm done with feeling helpless. I'm ready."

Michael gently eases Tony into a sitting position, making sure the cables hold still, and for a moment they just look at each other, really taking the moment in. There is a calmness in Michael's eyes that bolsters Tony's resolve. If Michael can handle an attack like this one, he's ready to be the Guardsman.

"Friendly coming in," a voice calls in from the hole into the combat simulation room. Tony and Michael turn to see Captain America lowering himself into the room, dropping gracefully to a part of the floor where the debris is less of a problem. Steve removes his mask as he crosses carefully across to them, stepping over the one intruder still unconscious on the floor, sparing the man a frown as he moves. "We're all clear upstairs, current threat fully neutralized."

"Great," Michael says. He frowns. "Were they really after me?"

"Mike, villains are _rarely_ after what they say they're after, don't stress about what they said they wanted," Steve tells him, and then his gaze flickers to Tony, and his reassuring expression slips away.

Tony can see the exact moment that Steve sees the cables that run from Tony's exposed chestplate to the wall. The disappointment is palpable on Steve's face. Tony tries to lower his gaze so he can't see it, but his eyes catch the shield slung low at Steve's hip. There's a streak of blood on the shield's surface, marring the perfect lines like a crack. Vibranium might not break, but humans do, and right now, Tony can't hide how vulnerably human he is. How fragile he is.

Steve's gaze runs again from the cables in the wall to where they're attached to Tony's exposed chestplate and he comes to the conclusion Tony's been hiding from him for longer than he wants to admit.

"When did the Ultra-Rejuvenator repair fail?" Steve asks. Steve's voice is quiet but his words echo, the hole in the ceiling changing the room acoustics so his words reach further than they normally might. It makes Tony feel like his chestplate has failed again, but it's just emotions digging into him, stripping him raw.

Tony doesn't even struggle to answer immediately, which apparently answers the question enough because Steve looks _wrecked_ for a second. He pushes that emotion from his face, replacing it swiftly with a stern, _Captain America_ expression instead, but Tony feels his disappointment like it's just one more shard in his heart.

"Mostly a couple of weeks ago. But it started while ago," Tony says, not looking at him. He can't do it if he's looking at Steve's face.

"You should have told us," Steve says.

"Not your circus, not your monkey," Tony says, and sighs. "There's enough money in my will for the Avengers to keep gong for a century, Cap. You've had enough to worry about."

"I—" Steve starts and huffs, angry now. "You think we just care about your _money_? Stark, I couldn't give a—"

Ouch, things must be bad if Steve's calling him _Stark_. Tony hurries to interrupt him. "Well, I can't invent new things as a corpse, that's true, but both Hanks we have are smart as hell, so I think you'd be okay—"

"Boss, I don't think that's what he means," Michael says.

Tony squints at Steve's angry face then at Michael's almost bemused expression.

"You might need to give him some time and space to re-learn how to breathe, Captain," Michael says.

Steve looks like he wants to protest, but his wide shoulders sag. "We'll deal with this later," Steve says, in a no-nonsense, no-arguments tone. "I'll get Simon in to unblock the door out of here. The structure's fine. Clint, Hank, Jan and I will work on constructing a temporary fix for the damage. Please try and contact Iron Man when you can, I could do with his assistance." He turns and leaves before Tony can say anything else.

Tony watches the broad blue back of Captain America striding away. Shit. _Shit._ Captain America's angry at him. Well isn't that abso-fucking-lutely deserved, probably. Tony stews in that thought for a moment, but his brain is just looping Steve's disappointed tone and his disappointed expression, louder and louder. Tony needs to move before he's screaming with it, but he has to wait while Simon drops into the room.

Simon barely says anything to him, but his frown as he stalks past Tony shrieks volumes. Michael manages to extract the tablet from the remains of the control console for Tony as they wait for Simon to uncover the door, and Tony starts arranging for contractors to come and fix the wall correctly, even though Steve, Jan and Hank already have some sort of tarp already covering the hole. The one benefit of being ridiculously rich is that Tony has so much money he can hurl at people that he hears the contractors drawing up outside scant minutes after he makes the call. Tony thinks he can hear Steve arguing with them. He lets the sound of Steve's faint far-off anger wash over him.

"Passageway is free," Simon says, curtly. "We already checked the elevators. They're running fine. You're good to go."

Simon doesn't even look at him as he disappears through the doorway himself.

"Ah, he seems a little unhappy?" Michael says.

Tony's mouth flattens wide. "Bad memories, I suppose. The mansion was invaded while you and I were busy with the Mandarin. It was Simon's..." He swerves the word _brother_ just at the last second, "...family."

"Oh," Michael says, his face pinching automatically. "It didn't go well?"

"Rarely does," Tony says. "Well, guess it's time to try and move out. You should just be able to flip the switches and leave the panel disconnected for now. I'll come back and sort it later." Tony takes a deep breath, readying himself for the disconnection.

"You need to go now? Because I can wait with you if you need longer, I'm not going anywhere," Michael says.

Tony smiles weakly at Michael. It's no wonder why the Avengers like having him around. "It should have a good twenty minutes charge in it by now." At Michael's alarm, he clarifies. "There's a better charging port in my workshop, it'll get me charged up in half the time, these cables don't have the juice. It'll take us five minutes to get upstairs."

There's obviously enough truth in Tony's voice that Michael just nods and does what he says. Tony hides his grimace at the kickback when Michael flips the switches off. He needs to fix that for next time, he thinks. Michael helps him up and takes his weight as they walk. Tony's overestimated the time he has, but it's okay, because Michael doesn't notice Tony's eyes are glazing over as Tony lets him into his office, and then shows Michael where his private workroom is.

Tony's able to stagger over to his usual charging port, and he plugs himself in and sinks into his chair with a sigh. Michael's still hovering, looking around at the space, and Tony's chest clenches with both physical and emotional distress, because it's so rare anyone is allowed in his most private of rooms, and he just let Michael in without even thinking about it. How has he let himself trust Michael so easily? He trusted Kevin very swiftly, and look where that landed him.

"Can I ask you a question?" Michael asks.

"I'm kind of a captive audience right now," Tony says, but Michael makes a pained face, so Tony continues. "But go ahead, I don't mind."

"When I had the Iron Man suit on, it wasn't like the Guardsman. Guardsman gave me a rush. Iron Man gave me a big stonking migraine." Michael looks at Tony speculatively. "Does it hurt for you like that?"

Tony shakes his head as much as he can but even the small movement makes it feel like his skull is cracking open. "The cybernetic controls are configured just for me," Tony explains. He closes his eyes, because his vision is doubling, and that's irritating. Once he has a better amount of charge in the plate he can replace some of the power cells. Thank goodness for the modular design that won't make that too difficult. "But yeah, I had migraines for months until I figured out the loop-back signal problem." He frowns. "Well, I guess you'd better help me swap out the power cells. Cap—"

"Captain America can wait," Michael says, glaring at Tony. At Tony's look of surprise, Michael straightens up and looks at Tony evenly. "Look, for all he knows, Iron Man's at Stark International doing who knows what. But what I _can_ do is take a message. Say we've been in contact and Iron Man will be here later, but he's...unfortunately unavailable right now. Iron Man's supposed to be your employee first and foremost, right?"

"Yeah," Tony says, "but—"

"No buts," Michael says. He folds his arms. "Sometimes Iron Man will just have to be unavailable. Captain America will just have to deal with it."

Tony's flustered and he doesn't have the energy to hide it. "I'm pretty sure a couple of weeks ago you were looking at him like he was the sun and the stars. You gonna be _able_ to say no to him?" If Tony's extra skeptical it's because he finds it impossible to ever say no to Steve. It's probably a problem.

Michael leans against a counter and looks at Tony with an inscrutable expression. "Once when we were kids, Kevin wanted an ice-cream and I held out for five hours."

Tony considers that. "Yeah, okay, you're a bad-ass."

Michael grins. "I'll be back to check up on you and help you with those power cells," he promises and then leaves the workroom before Tony can protest.

* * *

It's hours later when Tony feels ready enough to stand again. He managed to shoo Michael away from dragging him to a hospital, even going so far as to use the home-made ECG device and then the portable brain-scanner to show Michael his readings were fine. He eventually gets Michael to leave his side by extracting a promise from him to go supervise the builders as they finish fixing up the hole in the wall. It's nearly done, but Tony already has plans in place to get some extra steel reinforcements to the wall, and maybe some further perimeter sensors, so they can't be caught so quickly by surprise again. Say that for Tony, his equipment is only ever found lacking of something _once_. Tony keeps the gaps between any zero-day exploits and the fixes he needs as small as he possibly can.

The reinforcement plans will have to wait for tomorrow. Tony climbs into the Iron Man suit despite his protesting body, and goes to find Steve. Unsurprisingly, Steve's in the library. It's where he goes when he needs to be alone but doesn't want any of the Avengers to think he doesn't want them around. They tend to leave him be unless it's an emergency, though. Tony's too tired to go the long way around and just staggers out of his office door. He doesn't encounter anyone. They're probably still all working to clear up the combat simulation room, foyer and kitchen, all which took the brunt of the attack. The cloakroom's a goner, and the contractors have just built up a wall for now because even Tony's money can't enable a quick shipment of a toilet that can take various superhero levels of abuse that quickly. Those things take a week or two to commission at the least.

Jan is the only Avenger he meets on his way to the library, and that's in the foyer. She just touches him on the elbow and smiles at him when he passes. "Hey, Iron Man. You on your way to see Cap?"

Tony nods. "Yup. The boss said he wanted to see me." He makes a show of glancing around. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for the party."

"Trust me," Jan sighs, shaking her pretty head. "_Not_ a party."

"Yeah," Tony says, heavily. He starts moving towards the library again, trying not to count the bullet holes in the wall as he goes. He fails miserably and hates that he's able to start listing so quickly the items he'll need to repair the scars in the building, to make it look like it never happened.

When he passes through the dining room and into the library beyond, Steve doesn't even raise his head. He's slumped in the chair near his favorite window and he looks beyond miserable. Tony knows what it's like to be hit where you feel safest and even if he wasn't suffering the after-effects of a chestplate shutdown and brutal recharge, his chest would be aching in empathy for how Steve must be feeling right now.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to get here in time to be helpful," Tony says, before he even sits down.

Steve just makes a grunting noise, and then he looks up. His hair seems _off_, like he's just spent an hour pushing his hands through it, forcing it back so it lies at an unnatural direction. "Don't apologize. You weren't to know."

Tony nods and takes the seat, gingerly lowering himself down so he doesn't jerk and startle himself into a shout of pain. It's the last thing he needs. "The boss somewhat filled me in."

"I bet he did," Steve says, but his voice is low and the passive-aggressive note in his words grates down Tony's spine. His face crumples and in a more normal voice he says, "Sorry. I'm just heart-sore. We were attacked where we should be safe, and they were coming after someone under our care. If we hadn't been able to react, I shudder to think of what would have happened to him."

"He's safe, though?" Tony asks, because Iron Man might not have been told that.

Steve nods. "Reacted incredibly well, actually." He looks coolly at Tony, facing up directly to the Iron Man mask. "Especially when your boss's chestplate failed after some debris hit him in the explosion."

Tony swallows. "Oh," he says.

"So you knew," Steve says, and his voice seems extremely measured, like he could be calm, except he's not. Tony can see his hands are curling around the end of the armrests, and he kind of wants to laugh, because he and Steve react to stress the same way.

"That the Ultra-Rejuvenator had failed? Yes." Tony shrugs.

"You should have told me," Steve says.

"Should I?" Tony asks.

Steve frowns, obviously not expecting that as a response. "I suppose you're right. Tony should have told me himself. He knows how worried we were when he nearly died the _last_ time."

"I suppose he didn't want you to worry," Tony says, and it's half the truth. Mostly he just didn't want Steve to look at him with the expression he's wearing now. It's just as uncomfortable as Tony had anticipated it would be. "Any other injuries?"

"None of our own," Steve says. "But I did send Jarvis to spend some time with his mother. I felt like it was the best option. So we'll be looking after ourselves for a little while."

"Good," Tony says. Jarvis deserves some time off. "Was he hurt?"

"Only rattled," Steve says. "Like me."

Tony locks the suit in place so he can shuffle uncomfortably for a second. Then he unlocks it and carefully asks, "So what's our next move?"

"Clint, Hank and Simon are out chasing down a lead to see who hired the guys. They're a mercenary team, hired through a third party, but we have a lead on a name that might be involved." Steve looks at Tony. "I have another job in mind for you."

"Stick close to the boss?" Tony guesses.

Steve nods, but then he slumps and runs his hands over his face. "Honestly, Shellhead, I know what I have to do next, and I really don't want to do it."

Tony looks at him carefully. If his heart wasn't trembling right now it would be sinking to the floor. His brain races through a hundred solutions until he can see the painful conclusion Steve's come to. Tony's proud that his voice doesn't shake when he says, "If the mansion is no longer safe, he can't be here."

Steve swallows and drops his hands, but he stares out of the window, a horrible expression on his face. It seems like he's having trouble holding things together, which is frightening. When the world's best superhero can't handle a day, you know it's been a bad day. "Is there somewhere safer Tony can stay? Somewhere… not here? We're just too much of a target. I could never forgive myself if someone came after us and he was caught in the crossfire one more time. I don't think I could cope if that happened."

Tony stares at Steve. He doesn't have to pretend to glance away. It's one of the great advantages of a mask that he can stare at Captain America as much as he likes without anyone calling him out for it.

"It'll be troublesome for us," Tony says, slowly. "My armor needs constant adjustment. I would be further away from the mansion for a large majority of the time like I was before. Not just occasionally like today."

Steve nods. "I weighed that up already in my head. As convenient as it is that you can be fixed up on-site, it's just too dangerous. Until I can be sure the mansion's less of a target, I think it would be best if he didn't stay here." He sighs and stares down at his own hands for a long pause, moving them to his lap, clenching and unclenching his fingers as if he's having to forcibly retrain the movement into them.

"It's the logical play," Tony says. "So why are you hesitating to make it?"

Steve glances up at him and his hands falter and fall as fists onto his knees. He looks like Tony's chest pain feels. "Because when I was stuck here, in this time, I was lost. And Tony gave me a home," Steve says hollowly. "I can't believe I'm going to be the one to take his away."

Even though Tony's head feels light, like he's not fully in control of his own body, he's hit more by the horror of how bad Steve feels right now than any of his own feelings.

"I can do it," Tony says, quickly, immediately. He wants to do everything and anything he can to make Steve feel better, because Steve's obvious pain is too much to bear. "He's my boss, I can broach it much more easily, I can handle it–"

"It's my responsibility, Shellhead," Steve says, and smiles tightly at him. He squares his shoulders and stares at the door to the library, like he can look straight through it. "I wouldn't forgive myself passing the buck on something this important."

Tony stares, his eyes hot. He swallows and nods. "He should be in his office. You might have to knock a few times, he'll be resting,"

Steve smiles, but it's tight, and it's full of self-loathing, and Tony recognizes that feeling and _hates_ that Steve is feeling that way. "Thanks," he says. He pushes himself to his feet and turns to the door. Tony watches him go, but he can't freeze in horror the way he wants to, not with Steve on his way right to Tony's rooms. Tony sighs and, with no one around, opens a window and flies right out, zooming around the building and climbing in through his own office window.

He collapses the suit into the chestplate, flings his clothes back on and casts around, pulling out a suitcase from his last business trip that sits in the office closet. Thank goodness for being half-packed to leave most of the time already, Tony thinks, carrying it over to his desk and opening his drawer, throwing in his favorite laptop, and then heading over to his bedroom. He pulls out some more clothes from his clothes closet, carrying them in a heap in his arms when he hears Steve knock on the door. It's more hesitant than Steve normally is, on the rare occasions Steve has an issue where he needs to talk to Tony in his mansion office.

Tony dumps the clothes in a heap on his desk. He checks his own reflection warily. He looks scared, but maybe that's okay. He pauses to send for his car service, just thumbing in the request on his phone, and then heads for the door.

"Captain," Tony says, because Steve's in uniform.

Steve hovers at the threshold. "Can I come in?"

Tony nods. "Of course." He crosses back to his desk as Steve lets himself in and closes the door and starts folding the clothes he dumped on the desk. When he glances up, Steve's a little wide-eyed. "You think I don't know what you're about to say, Cap? Give me a little credit. Futurist. It's my job to predict things."

"Tony," Steve says, "it's not that we don't _want_ you here, it's just-—"

"Don't worry about it. It's the best play." Tony looks up and grins at him, even though he doesn't feel it. He focuses on folding his clothes, because he can't look at Steve while he deliberately does what he can to make this easier for him. Tony's going to be in pain whatever happens, it might as well be _just_ him, not anyone else. "Seriously, Cap, you look like you're going to blow a gasket. This place doesn't exactly have the best memories for me, and before you think it, I'm talking pre-Avengers. Hell, what happened today doesn't even rank top hundred bad days here. If you're okay with Iron Man being less readily available, it's all good."

Steve's eyebrows furrow. "I don't want to force you from your home, but until we can make it safe for you to be here-—"

"I get it," Tony says. He forces himself to look at Steve and falls back on years of experience of schmoozing execs and government higher-ups at parties to give his best press-winning smile. "I trust your judgment, Captain."

"I'm not sure you should," Steve says, still looking so unsure.

Tony inwardly sighs, because all he wants to do is collapse into a million pieces, but he can't make this any harder for Steve than he has to. He walks over to Steve and looks him straight in the eye. "You can't stop whatever bad guys just attacked unless you can focus fully on them. Trust me, I get it. Michael's important to me. I failed his brother, I refuse to fail him too. I'm voluntarily removing myself from the risk matrix. In return, I know _you'll_ do what you can to keep my friend safe. Or am I wrong about that?"

Steve straightens. "You're not wrong," he says. Then his expression shifts into something else. "Except for when you didn't tell us the synthetic heart repair had failed. _That_ was wrong."

"I'm not proud of it. Guess I just figured if I didn't say it, it hadn't happened," Tony admits. His mouth quirks to one side. "I doubt you know how easy denial can be."

"You'd be surprised," Steve says, his voice gentle.

Steve's tense expression is difficult to look at. There's a lump in Tony's throat. Maybe if he'd realized Kevin was going to become so dangerous, he could have had the Avengers' protection too. "Is Michael staying?" Tony asks. "I do have more than one safe house if you think-—"

"Probably safer if he stays in arm's reach," Steve interrupts. "Don't worry, Tony. We'll keep him safe."

Tony nods, his eyes stinging. He deliberately tenses his pectoral muscles just to make a fresher wave of pain wash through him to stop him from falling apart in front of Steve. Of course Michael needs to stay with them if he's a target. He's not a liability like Tony is. "You will need Iron Man for that," he says, because the idea of being completely away from them is tearing him apart more than any heart problem.

"Perhaps you can liaise with your company," Steve suggests, "work out some sort of schedule for him to come and train with us?"

"Yeah," Tony says, and he can hear how hoarse his voice is. "Give me a week."

"In person?" Steve says, and it sounds like a question, but Tony's not sure. Tony's confusion is apparent enough that Steve's face pinches and he says, "I know we can do it over the phone, or—"

"I can borrow Iron Man's identicard," Tony offers.

"Screens are so—impersonal."

Tony manages a wry smile. "How about Stark International? You can come by corporate, I'll set up a consultant pass for you. I'll send it via Michael. I'll still need him to come to SI for the Guardsman brain-scans."

"I'll make sure we get him to you safely," Steve says.

"I appreciate that," Tony says, trying to hold onto the wry smile, because it's better than the grimace that threatens to replace it.

Steve still looks like he wants to say something else, but he wrinkles his mouth and then matches Tony's somber smile. "Right, well, I've got to go make sure the others aren't slacking off. Your mansion looks like a wreck."

"Eh, there's space in the budget to redecorate, any time you want," Tony offers, aiming for a light and jovial tone. He's not sure from Steve's expression that he's pulled it off. "My car's coming in ten minutes. Make sure they hold it for me if I'm not quite down in time?"

"Of course," Steve says, relaxing like he's happy to be able to do something helpful. He reaches out like he's going to squeeze Tony's shoulder reassuringly, and Tony shouldn't want him to do it so badly, but he does, he wants the contact, maybe needs it, but Steve pulls his hand away and walks out of Tony's room, and oh, that's probably Tony's fault too, because he's flinched away from such things before. It's too late to tell him he only flinched because he didn't want Steve to feel the chestplate and learn the truth.

Now the truth is out there and it couldn't have gone much worse. The world wobbles and Tony lets himself sink to his desk chair, his hands gripping the edge of the desk for support. They discovered the truth about his heart and they've immediately sent him away. It's so close to his greatest fear, of Iron Man being rejected, that Tony's overwhelmed. He thinks he would be having trouble breathing even if he hadn't died (just that little bit) earlier.

Tony allows himself one minute to freak out and that's all. He stands up and routinely finishes throwing things in his suitcase that he'll need, then he methodically puts on his coat, grabs the Iron Man briefcase in one hand and his suitcase in another, and leaves his office, his head held high. He's not okay, but if there's one thing he knows how to do it's to fake it until he makes it, so that's what he'll do. He'll fake being okay until the lie becomes the truth.


	5. Chapter 5

Once more I enforce you to give play to yourself—

and not depend on me, or on any one but yourself

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

The Avengers take it in turns to escort Michael to _Stark International_ every day. Most of the time it's not in uniform, and Tony watches through his own security feed, feeling pathetic for how desperately he waits every morning for just a sight of Jan's familiar blue eyes, or Clint's wicked smiles, or Hank's blue fur sticking out from his trench coat. Simon even escorts Michael on his own one day, which is a breakthrough that Tony hates he isn't around to compliment. Simon's been too skittish for a while now about his own powers, fearful of the danger in their lives. His growing mental strength is beautiful to see. Tony vows to stop by as Iron Man and tell him so, as soon as he can fit it in his schedule.

Today Tony's extra skittish, because it's been a week, and Steve is predictable like that. He promised Steve he could have a formal timetable for Iron Man's training availability, and thanks to Krissy, Tony has one now, ready and printed out in hardcopy because that's how Steve prefers his paperwork, even now. Clint tried to guilt him that he was killing a rainforest, but Tony immediately slid a reforestation project onto the schedule of one of his foundations and spent an hour as Iron Man calming Steve down that paper backups were a very good idea in an age when digital data could be swiped at any time. Which Tony had personal experience of, he thinks glumly, thinking of his still-missing patents. Sitwell was supposed to be getting back to him today about it, which probably explained why Tony was feeling exceptionally wired for the day.

His restless anticipation is absolutely nothing to do with the fact he'd be seeing Steve for the first time since Steve told him to leave, Tony thinks, because denial when it comes to his own feelings will probably always be his first response. Identifying emotions is for later, in the dark, when no one can see him scream into his pillows. Where no one can see him be so weak.

Tony checks the clock. Michael's been dropped off by the Avengers every weekday at 10am promptly. It's half nine now. He shifts his weight from the balls of his feet to his heels and back again. It would probably be rude not to meet Steve at the lobby, wouldn't it? Tony stares at the code he should be looking at. The Guardsman flaw is a problem tormenting him. He's sure he can see the edges of a solution sitting just in the corner of his vision, but when he turns to look, it fractures away. A break from the screen would probably be a good idea.

Before Tony realizes he's convinced himself, he's already moving. He hesitates halfway across his workshop floor when he remembers he's barefoot and half-dressed, and he quickly throws himself into the tiny bathroom attached to the workshop, washes quickly just at the sink, and throws on his spare suit, because he probably should not be showing Steve around wearing just sweatpants and a tank-top. A suit jacket and shirt hides his chestplate better. Steve knows about its existence, but that's no reason to rub it in his face how quickly Tony was to lie to him.

Tony hurries out of the workshop. Krissy startles when he appears.

"Do you need anything, sir?" she asks, smoothly hiding her surprise with a smile.

Tony shakes his head. Krissy's a blessing of a PA. Always so helpful. "I have a new consultant headed in, and I need some headspace for this new project, thought I'd go give them the tour personally. Show off a little."

Krissy smirks at him. "Is she cute?"

Tony makes an appalled face just for her benefit, even though it's a valid response—Tony _has_ shown a few women around the facility to impress them. "_He_ is a friend," Tony says. He contemplates it, trying to see Steve through someone else's eyes. He doesn't know how to express the mental image in his head. Cute doesn't cover it. Beautiful, perhaps, but Tony doesn't know how to say that to someone who doesn't understand just how necessary Steve is to Tony's life. He doesn't know how it would come across to someone who doesn't understand the beauty of fighting next to Captain America.

"I'm not sure of your type," he says, eventually, and tries to consider what the popular aesthetics for celebrities are at the moment. He doesn't know if Steve's broad shoulders are in vogue, but if not, people are idiots. "You'd probably call him cute, though?" he concludes.

"I'll keep an eye out, boss," Krissy says. "I got a call earlier from that other cute friend of yours."

"You'll have to be more specific," Tony says.

"Agent Sitwell," Krissy says, beaming fondly at her notes. "Says he has an update for you. Should be here in a couple of hours."

"I'll be back in my hovel by then probably," Tony says, nodding back at his workshop. "Beep me when he gets here, I want to see him immediately."

"Of course, sir," Krissy says, and Tony nods and strides quickly away, shaking his head. If Jasper _Sitwell _is who she thinks is cute, Tony can't comprehend what Steve should be classed as.

Tony makes it to the lobby just as Steve and Michael get there. Steve gives him a friendly wave. He has the pass Tony sent for him already in his hand. He's wearing civilian clothes, which is good for the productivity of Tony's employees, because the thing is, most engineers are like Tony at heart: absolutely deeply fervent Captain America _nerds_. If Captain America showed up in full regalia, shield on his back, most of them would stop work and just gape stupidly instead. _Stark International_ makes a lot of electronics that wouldn't mix well with drool.

Steve does have his portfolio with him, and that's when Tony moves, because he realizes it's the one he has when he wants to go out in public incognito but still have his shield. One of Tony's security guards indicates for Steve to step through a metal detector, but Tony hurries forwards and disables it.

"He's here with something for me," Tony says, and points a finger at the guard surprised to see him. "Let him through."

The guard nods and Steve gratefully passes through the metal detector without it going off. Michael troops in behind, hands in his pockets.

"This is certainly something," Steve says, looking up at Tony's lobby in a way Tony recognizes. It's the same expression he had back when Steve met _Tony_ for the first time, as opposed to Iron Man.

Tony was the one who showed him the world and the wonders in it, trying his best to desperately lure Steve to want to stay. He's always been a little sad that first evening wasn't solely enough to convince him to stay. In fact, it so nearly backfired. Tony's earnest attempts to convey the importance of Steve's legacy, what Captain America inspired since he went missing… Steve nearly took it as permission to stop, that he'd done enough. Thank goodness for unwavering patriotism, Tony thinks, mentally making a note to send another fruit basket to the President that convinced Steve to stay.

Tony squints up at his own lobby, trying to see it through fresh eyes. It's an architectural creation, art made functional, function made art. Tony knows how important first impressions are to people. He's always wanted _Stark International_ to come with a gut-punch of wonder. He wants people to have the same feeling he gets when a new technology crawls out from his brain and into reality, made solid through his own hands.

"This is really something," Steve says, and when Tony glances at him, Steve's eyes are shining, like he really means it.

"You can stop by the architecture department and tell them yourself someday if you'd like," Tony says. He eyes Steve speculatively. "They'd probably like it more if the guy who looks a bit like you told them instead, though."

Steve looks confused for a second and then he understands, laughing a little. "Yeah, I was a little surprised when the ID came and it wasn't for, uh, that guy."

"Yeah, well, I thought you'd like it better to look around here without everyone staring at you," Tony says. "I'm sure you get enough of that on a normal day."

"I appreciate it," Steve says, smiling like he means it.

"If they knew who you were, they would be too busy drooling to work," Tony says.

Steve glances at Tony's busy workers milling around the building and smirks. "Fan of Captain America or just the comics?"

"For most of them, to be honest, it's both," Tony says.

"Is it weird to know no one knows it's you?" Michael asks. Steve startles a little, like he'd somehow forgotten Michael was there, but he adjusts quickly and smiles at him.

Steve shrugs. "The people who matter know the truth, that's all I need."

Tony swallows and looks away. His eyes sting a little. Steve matters, he can't _explain_ how much he matters in words, but Tony can't tell him the truth. He wants to. It would make so many things easier. But it could make things so much worse. Tony would choose a painful life that allows him to be Iron Man over a life without being Iron Man any day.

"People have separate identities for all sorts of reasons," Steve says.

"Too late for me," Michael says, "seeing as I announced it on the news."

"Yeah, that does somewhat put a dampener on developing a secret identity," Tony says, clapping Michael on the back companionably.

"Well, I guess I do understand why some identities need to be secret," Michael says. "But it was more important to me that people see the Guardsman and think of Kevin."

Tony's silent as he looks over at Michael and nods heavily. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, that is important." He shakes himself. "C'mon, I haven't even given Michael the full tour yet. Let's have a look around, see if I can catch anyone slacking. I'm in the mood to make someone feel bad and then let them off without a punishment." He cocks his head. "Does that make me a bad CEO if I enjoy that sort of thing?"

"A bad one probably fires them immediately," Steve says.

* * *

Tony takes his time to do the full corporate experience for them, the one he normally does when he's trying to show Stark International off to get money, because he can't stop once he starts. Except then he gets to the end of the usual tour, and Steve wants to see all the boring parts of the facilities, like the archives, and the coolers, and the back-up servers, and the staff rooms, and the offices. Steve even wants to wander around the plastic building that's still under reconstruction since the Controller exploded poor Abe Klein's experimental plastic. Tony still feels badly about that. Tony humors all of Steve's requests, because he doesn't want to say goodbye yet. It's probably selfish, but if this is all the one-on-one time he's going to get with Steve for a while, he wants what he can get.

Which is why even though he means to end the tour in the public office that's also attached to the room Krissy works, Tony ends up extending the tour even more with an invitation to his own private workshop. Michael and he need to be there anyway. Tony thinks Steve will want to duck out and go back to the Avengers, but he accepts with an open smile. Maybe he thinks Iron Man will be there. Well, Tony can't help but disappoint the Avengers in brand new ways all the time, one more black mark against him probably will be lost among the others.

Krissy does glance up from her work as he leads Michael and Steve past, but she calmly returns to her typing as Tony presses in the code and shows them down the dark staircase that leads to the workroom.

"So here we are, this is my private workroom," Tony says, gesturing at it as Michael and Steve come down the stairs behind him. "Try not to touch anything if it looks vaguely technological, Cap. It might be live."

Steve shoots him a wry look. "I make no promises," he jokes, but he dutifully puts his hands behind his back as he walks around. Tony notices how quickly Steve's gaze takes in the security features, noting where the doors are, and where the shutters come down to seal the room in if an emergency happens. Seeing his observational and tactical processing power in action is always impressive. Then Steve's gaze lands on the corner. "You have a _bed_ in here?"

"Oh, you know," Tony says, casually, "just a mattress for emergencies. You're not supposed to spend too long staring at screens, that's a modern thing. Bad for the eyes." He sidles around the room, pretending to move casually, so he can faux-casually drop a discarded sweater over a pile of plates he hasn't gotten around to tidying up. Michael notices his "smooth" attempt and smirks at him.

"Okay, O'Brien, hop in the cement mixer, let's get the scans going," Tony says. "I'm going to try loading you up with the video, see what various visual stimuli do to the results. There won't be any audio stimuli yet. You ready for that?"

Michael nods, already heading to the brain-scanning rig as Tony opens the drawer holding several VR headsets. He pushes in the pre-loaded card marked MOB1-AVTEST1 into the slot and gives it to Michael to put on as he settles into the chair.

"He's putting you in a cement mixer?" Steve asks, blinking rapidly.

Tony laughs, shaking his head. "It's just our name for it."

"Because I think that the top bit looks like a cement mixer," Michael says, pointing up at the relevant part of the device. Michael puts on the VR set and quirks a grin at Steve. "Fancy helping to strap me in?"

"How can I refuse an offer like that?" Steve says, and Tony bends down to show Steve how to put Michael in the ankle and wrists straps. Steve buckles the straps across Michael's chest while Tony makes sure the VR headset is showing images, and then Tony lowers down the top of the scanner and sets the timer on it.

"You comfy, O'Brien?" Tony asks.

"Best seat in the house," Michael jokes, and Tony smirks. "Besides, it's better than the first time you strapped me in something in here."

"Um," Steve says, "that doesn't sound so good?"

"I was naked at the time, too," Michael says. "And sedated."

Tony thumps his face into his hands. When he looks up, Steve's staring at him, eyebrows raised. "It was when the Guardsman armor failed on him," Tony mutters. "He needed to be drugged and strapped up to make sure he didn't hurt himself while the effects faded."

Steve nods. "Did he have to be naked?"

"Well, that was just funny," Tony says, winking at Steve as Michael makes a howl of indignation.

Then a low extended beep fills the air, making Steve turn on his heel, looking for the danger. Tony points to the sign that's lit up over the main door.

"Just my PA," Tony tells him and Steve relaxes.

"Sir," Krissy's voice floats through the speaker, "an Agent Sitwell is here to see you."

Tony leans over to hit his comms button. "Great," Tony says. "Send him down." He looks over to Steve. "You can take a seat if you want?" He indicates the five chairs at different parts of the room. The room is usually just for him, but Kevin once nearly brained himself on two different worktops when he was using the one wheeled chair to scoot across the floor. Tony swallows hard, the memory unhappy and amusing all at the same time.

"I'm good for now," Steve says.

The light above the door flashes blue indicating Sitwell is ready to come down, so Tony brings up the security camera feed onto his monitor and when he sees Sitwell standing there, squinting awkwardly into the camera, Tony keys in the code for the door to open. Sitwell clatters down the stairs and he looks almost breathless.

"I'm glad you're here," Sitwell says, beaming as he crosses the floor to Tony. Then he notices Steve and hesitates. "I have, uh, information about—Is it safe to talk about it now?"

"Hmm?" Tony realizes Sitwell means Steve. "Oh, Steve's got full clearance. Especially for anything to do with Iron Man. He's a… special consultant."

Sitwell nods, glances warily at Steve, and somehow seems to have missed that there's an entire other person in the corner.

"Sitwell ran Stark International for me for a couple of weeks while I was...overseas," Tony says, cautiously. "Managed to get my company fake-stolen while he did it, so I'm never hiring him again."

"That wasn't my fault," Sitwell immediately protests.

"Information?" Tony prompts.

"Yeah," Sitwell says, and shoots an odd glance in Steve's direction. "Is Iron Man around?"

"Unavailable," Tony says, curtly.

"Shame," Sitwell says. "I have a lead on the Iron Man armors, I think. Some of the same alloys you use in the construction have been stolen from a warehouse in Cleveland through a shell corporation that I think could have been one of Mordecai Midas' companies. A vast quantity is missing, which is unusual—"

"—so you think whoever got hold of the armors is trying to recreate it," Tony finishes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, resting the weight of his head against his hand. "Same shit, different day."

Tony turns around and leans both hands against the nearest worktop. He doesn't want to have to think this. He knows he has to. Only his staff had access to the armors.

"You have any thoughts Mr. Stark?" Sitwell asks, gently.

"We know already that whoever _did_ take them—most likely Midas—has somehow already deactivated the tracking technology I had inputted," Tony says, giving the information mostly for Steve's benefit, but also because he likes to hear some thoughts out loud, to see if they're as sensible as he thinks they are. "Whoever did that has to be smart. And we know where the armors were taken from. I need to acknowledge the worst may have already happen. We need to run a profile of the most likely candidates within _Stark International_ that could have done it. I'm not a profiler, but I can deduce the level of skill necessary to take them from my systems without me noticing. They're good. They're very good at what they do. Look at every employee with a doctorate of some sort, or a minimum of ten years experience in engineering or development in a corporate environment. That should narrow it down."

"I'll stop by personnel, get an up-to-date copy of your payroll," Sitwell says.

Tony nods. "Tell Krissy that's where you're going, she'll phone ahead, get them to prepare it for you. Anything else?"

Sitwell winces. "I'm sorry to have to tell you, but Andrew Hawk has died."

Tony jerks around to look at him, face falling. "God, no," he breathes.

"Andrew Hawk?" Steve asks and Tony glances at him sadly.

"The guy Sitwell discovered had been planting the rumors that I was taking bribes from international officials," Tony explains.

"He was electrocuted when we confronted him," Sitwell says, "remotely triggered through some device that imploded afterward. We got him to the hospital, but he fell into a coma. Damn shame, his testimony could have cracked the whole case open."

"I'll sleep happier when Mordecai Midas is in jail where he belongs," Tony says.

"I think we all will," Sitwell says. He straightens his posture, the usual body language that means he has to go.

Tony extends a hand and Sitwell shakes it. "Thanks for all your assistance, Agent Sitwell. It is appreciated."

Sitwell beams. "Thank you, Mr. Stark. I try my best."

"That's all anyone can ask," Tony says. He waits until Sitwell has left and then sags against the worktop, exhausted.

"He's SHIELD, right?" Steve asks, moving closer to lean against an opposing worktop.

"Yeah," Tony says. "He's the official liaison, working to help prevent my technology from falling into the wrong hands." He smiles wryly. "It's going well so far."

"Your tech is a target for a lot of villains," Steve says, which is probably an underestimate. "Ma used to say that if you're being attacked by evil, it probably means you're doing something right."

"That's nice," Tony says, softly.

"So which one of these is the screen we talk to you on?" Steve says, gesturing at the bank of screens on the wall behind Tony. Tony glances to look, grateful for the subject change.

"The Avengers visual tie-in line, you mean? The one farthest right is the one I currently have hooked up to that system," Tony says, "but don't bother being confused as to why the view behind us doesn't match. The one we used to talk on was in my other lab. The uh, _publicly _listed private lab."

Steve squints. "I don't remember seeing that one on our tour."

"That's because _someone_ blew it up," Tony says, also neglecting to mention his _third_ secret lab behind the bookcase in his public office. A guy has to have _some _secrets.

"I only blew it up a little bit," Michael calls over. "I wasn't in my own mind, the Guardsman armor had scrambled my calm."

"It's all right," Tony calls back. "Iron Man blew up the plastics building and my expert was so peeved he quit." He glances at Steve. "Abe Klein, old engineering teacher of mine. I don't use the term genius lightly, but in his case, it applies."

"And the fact Klein was kidnapped by Commander Kraken recently had nothing to do with it," Michael says, sing-song.

"I may not be the safest employer in New York," Tony admits with a grimace in Steve's direction.

"Well, from what I've seen, you don't ask anything from them that you don't ask from yourself," Steve says, with a significant glance at Tony's chest.

Tony's grimace widens. "Thank goodness or I'd probably be sued."

Steve nods thoughtfully, and looks over at another corner of the workroom. "Is that the Guardsman armor?" Tony has the Guardsman armor laid out across three worktops, currently in pieces while Tony adjusts some of the fit for Michael's build. He's more muscular than Kevin, but more compact in places, so it's been a good thing for him to work on while he bashes his head against the brick wall that is the Guardman's massive cybernetic flaw.

"Yep," Tony says, crossing over to it, shoving his hands in his pockets so he doesn't start tinkering again, because then he's likely to forget Steve's there. Even he can't distract Tony from the zone he gets into when he's inventing. Pepper used to say it took a hurricane to even slightly get his attention. "The Guardsman was a modular design, it makes it more difficult to put on, but when you can replace parts it makes it easier when it gets damaged."

Steve follows him over and peers down at the small pieces with an expression of clear interest. "Modular as opposed to what?"

"The Iron Man Mark V armor currently under construction," Tony says, indicating a larger piece of machinery in the corner of his workshop. "While I can replace parts of the armor when they get damaged, the idea of Guardsman was that one day it would be replicable, so the main parts need to be able to be manufactured off-site en-masse. The Iron Man armor will never work like that. I need to keep the pieces secret. I can't afford the wrong people to get hold of this technology, not again, anyway." He stares in at the current armor under process. It's a lot of delicate engineering work and the chamber is busy molding some of the pieces into precise small shapes that Tony can't manage alone. "It's modular in a way, but because I'm not designing it to be mass-produced in a factory, I can be a lot more precise with it."

"That's incredible," Steve says, eyes shining as he watches the inner workings of the Iron Man armor creation chamber, smiling as he sees a familiar movement of red and gold. "So Michael will just put the armor on piece by piece?"

"Like any soldier would put a uniform on," Tony says, nodding. "The parts just click into place, and the modular design means the Guardsman function can change depending on need. For example, the helmet can be exchanged for an underwater dome. The stun gun mounts on the shoulder can be swapped out. We can add drills, oxygen tanks, flamethrowers—it's adaptable."

"So if the Iron Man armor isn't modular, how does the pilot even put it on?" Steve asks. He flushes awkwardly. "I'm sorry if that's too intrusive, I guess I've just always wondered."

"The Iron Man suit is much easier to put on than the Guardsman, that's for sure," Michael says.

"Aw, jealous? Because you should be," Tony jokes. Michael can't move much in his straps but he does manage to flick Tony the bird.

"I am. Getting to be Iron Man, I had a lot of fun," Michael says.

"You were _kidnapped,_" Tony says, appalled.

Michael laughs. "Iron Man rescued me really quickly. The Mandarin barely touched me. He just wanted... to gloat."

"Yeah, bad guys are like that, it's weird," Steve says, commiseratively. His gaze returns to the construction of the new Iron Man armor. "Do you just put it on like a suit of armor?"

"Much easier than that," Tony says. It feels weird getting to talk about Iron Man like this, especially to Captain America. Steve's never really asked Iron Man how the suit works, but Tony supposes he probably just reckoned it was like anyone who flew anything—pilots might know a little on how to do basic repairs to their planes, but they wouldn't know the vehicle like its original designer and creator does. "There are different methods for different versions of the Iron Man armor, depending on what variation it is. It's a process I'm refining all the time. The Guardsman is actually based on the Mark II Iron Man armor. It's pliant when you put it on, then you activate the polarization process, and the material becomes like iron."

"_Like_ iron?" Steve asks.

"Of course there's some iron in there, but it's a mixture of metals, polymers, nano-transistors, other materials, knitted together...I could explain it but you'd probably fall asleep." Tony looks at Steve speculatively. "The Mark II wouldn't fit you fully as it is, but would you like to try part of it?"

"_Would_ I," Steve says, looking genuinely thrilled.

"Let's give it a go then," Tony says, and crosses to the wall which has a sliding compartment. He keys in the physical code in a small number pad underneath the compartment, not wanting to speak his password out-loud while Captain America is in the room. Particularly when the verbal password _is_ Captain America. It slides open and Tony pulls out the attache case. He feels a pang at how visceral the reminder is of being down to just the two suits at the moment, this and the one he's already wearing. He hopes Sitwell does get a lead on the others soon, because it feels like he's sitting on a time-bomb.

"We're just going to try putting on an epaulet and the glove," Tony says, putting the attache case down on the nearest clear worktop. "Why don't you sit here, it'll be easier for me to fit it to you if you're sat down."

Steve obliges. "So that's what's in this case?" Steve asks, staring at the thin object in question. "Just one arm?"

"No, the whole thing is," Tony says dismissively, already flipping it open.

Steve stares. "Iron Man's whole armor fits in this one case?"

"Number of sets he goes through, I'd need a bigger facility to store them all if they didn't pack down small. Which arm do you want it on? You'll want to roll your sleeve back as far as you can."

Steve dutifully extends his left arm and rolls up his sleeve to his shoulder. Tony pulls out the magnetic epaulets. "This might be a tight squeeze but we won't leave it on for long," Tony says, "but speak up if it hurts too much." Steve nods and just watches as Tony clasps the left epaulet around Steve's shoulder. It's not as tight a fit as Tony feared. "Then I just need to put the glove on." Steve dutifully extends his hand and Tony focuses on making sure the glove fits on. As he pulls it on over Steve's hand their eyes meet for the weirdest of seconds, and Tony feels dizzy. He looks away quickly and focuses on keeping his breathing even, because if his heart has a funny turn now, Steve will never let him forget it. Thankfully looking away seems to have solved the problem, as Tony gets the glove fully on Steve's large hand and his heart settles down.

"This is soft," Steve says, staring at the material and wriggling his fingers a little. "Are you sure you're not pranking me with an Iron Man Halloween costume?"

"Iron Man pyjamas," Tony deadpans. He grins. Now he's not got Steve's hand half under his, it's easier to look him in the face, especially as Steve's eyes are locked on the Iron Man glove. "No, I'm kidding, this is just how it works. You'll see. Stay real still for a moment."

"Okay," Steve says, sounding very dubious, but then Tony's hand finds the hidden release in the cuff of the glove and the magnets do their trick, snapping the retractable covering firmly into place over Steve's muscular arm. Steve startles. "That was quick."

"It always bodes well for me when people are impressed by speed," Tony quips, already lifting one of his boots aside to get to the power pods. "Okay, because you don't have the chestplate, I'll just have to cable these in manually. Bear with me." He pulls out the collar, clips two of the power pods to it, and reaches over to a drawer that has a multitude of connecting cables. Quickly pulling out four that will work, Tony hums under his breath as he connects them. "And then we polarize the material, _et voila_."

Maybe it's Tony's melodramatic French that has Steve muttering, "_Merde!_" in response, his surprise clear on his face as he raps carefully on the hard material now covering his arm. "This is incredible," Steve breathes. "I had no idea, I thought you _shaped_ the muscles in when you made it, but it molds to the wearer's muscle?" He looks up at Tony, eyebrows high. "That means Iron Man is actually as strong as he looks out of the armor, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Tony manages. "I guess so?" He's flustered, because normally no one notices his physique. He hides it under both kind of suits, and it's not like since he started wearing the chestplate full-time that he's been naked in front of anyone. Even for the brief spell of time he was free of the chestplate, thanks to Pym's Ultra-Rejuvenator and the successful synthetic heart surgery, he stayed away from all unnecessary physical exertion, knowing he had to save what strength he had for Iron Man. He always prided himself on being fit before Iron Man, but that determination has only increased since Yinsen's sacrifice. Tony's living for more than just himself now. He owes it to anyone he could save to be as strong as he can be.

"I'm not going to go crazy wearing this, am I?" Steve asks, still staring fascinated at his own hand in the armor, flexing his fingers one at a time.

"Too late if you are," Tony says cheerfully, and then when Steve shoots him a look, he grins. "Nah, the helmet has most of the cybernetic relays in, you're safe. _That's_ right here." He presses the release on the case to eject the mask and it shoots out into his hands. Steve makes a grabby motion with his right hand and Tony hands it over easily.

"It's so _floppy,_" Steve marvels, holding up the familiar mask and smiling at it.

"Yeah, that's what all the girls say," Michael cheerfully interjects.

"I knew I should have switched out the regular test footage on that video to the sex tape I made with your mom," Tony calls over.

"Ha, she's dead, you necrophiliac bastard," Michael laughs. "I'd know who the real loser would be in that situation."

There probably is no graceful response to that, so Tony turns his attention back to Steve. Steve is still staring at the mask, held carefully between one bare hand and one Iron Man gauntlet, and Tony's chest feels a little tight. Maybe it's stress. Hopefully it's not his heart misbehaving. "Let's put that away for now," Tony says quickly. "I'll feel happier when it's locked away again."

Steve nods and lets Tony take the mask from him, and he watches, interested, as Tony detaches the cables and de-polarizes the arm and the material turns soft again. Steve makes an impressed noise again when the sleeve collapses into the glove.

"That was more amazing that I ever could have imagined," Steve says, and Tony has to turn his back to Steve as he shuts the case, because his cheeks feel warm at the praise. Tony quickly crosses to the wall safe and locks the case back in. He's regained his composure by the time he's turned around.

"I'm glad you approve. Iron Man is probably the best thing I've ever made," Tony says.

"Yeah, I'm probably too biased, but I agree," Steve says. He's still sitting in the chair, but his eyes are sweeping around the room. "This room is definitely not as glamorous as I was expecting. The rest of your facility is so _shiny_, but this seems much more practical." His gaze lingers on the kitchen peeking through at the back of the room and all the functional equipment lined up around the walls, all Tony's tools lined up neatly on the tables.

Tony shrugs. "The rest of the facility is to impress investors. Normally I don't let many people down here at all." He pulls a wry face. "Today's a hot traffic day, really."

"Oh," Steve says, "if I'm intruding—"

"Never," Tony says, holding up a hand firmly. "You're welcome in my facility any time, that's why you have a platinum ID card."

Steve glances down at the ID card strung on a lanyard around his neck and the shiny band across the bottom.

"It gives you access to all areas of the facility, except this one, but that's because it has a separate security system," Tony says, and briefly explains how it locks down to become a panic room. "But in the case of an emergency, your pass will still open any other door but the ones to here in any of my facilities."

Steve now openly stares at his ID and the passport-sized version of his face staring out, the job title CONSULTANT stamped below. "I don't know what to say," he says.

Tony shrugs. "No need to say anything, it just makes sense. If we end up under attack of _course_ I want Captain America to be able to get through the building without having to pause to smash through every door."

Steve looks away at that, and Tony's confused, because it seems like Steve might not be impressed by that reasoning. "Yeah. That does make sense," Steve says, in an oddly stiff voice.

Tony presses on. "_And_ I want you to feel like you can come here as yourself, any time you need. It's got to be tough being Captain America all the time. Somewhere else safe you can be yourself…it can be invaluable." Tony shrugs. "It's an open offer. Krissy will let you in here. Anyone confronts you outside my workspace, just say you're a consultant to me directly, security know to give you a pass."

Steve's looking at him again and he's quiet for a moment, but his voice is less stiff when he says, gently, "Thank you." Nothing else, but it's enough.

Tony opens his mouth to say something else, and he's honestly not sure what it's going to be, but he thinks it might be something embarrassing, like inviting him to dinner in the cafeteria, so it's probably good that there's another low extended beeping noise and the comms sign lights up yellow again. Saved by the electronic buzz.

"Sir," Krissy's voice floats in, "there's a Happy Hogan here to see you?"

"Hot traffic day," Tony murmurs to Steve, then he leans over and hits the comms button. "Send him down, Krissy. Tell him he better be bringing me souvenirs."

"Of course, Sir," Krissy says.

Tony hurries over to greet Happy, genuinely psyched to see him. Happy hurries down the stairs, beaming when he catches sight of Tony, and he moves in for a hug before Tony can stop him.

Happy's enthusiastic, and Tony hides his small grimace of pain as the hug is too exuberant for him. Even though he's had a week to get over the chestplate fail, Tony's still suffering the aftereffects.

"Hey, big guy," Tony greets, pulling back and holding Happy at arm-length. "Did you bring me presents?"

"Pepper's got them," Happy says.

"She here?" Tony peers around him like Pepper might magically appear out of nowhere.

"No, she has an appointment with the realtors," Happy says. "We got a new place. Just down the block from here, actually."

"Just down the block," Tony echoes, and then looks Happy in the eye, genuinely hopeful at the prospect. "Does this mean she's changed her mind and you get to come back?"

Happy gives a shrug. "Both of us. Surprise?"

Tony tosses aside all concern for his own pain and grabs Happy into a genuinely excited hug. "Happy, I've missed you."

"Pep just sent me ahead to figure out a schedule for our return," Happy says. "No rush, but I think we're both eager to get back to work."

"Yeah, of course," Tony says. Then he pulls a face. "Oh, man. Krissy."

Happy laughs. "New beau? I'm sure she'll adjust to the fact you actually have _friends_," he says, and then glances around the workshop and startles, as if just seeing Steve and Michael for the first time. "As apparently you already do, did you replace us already?" He leans closer and squints at the machine Michael is in. "Is that one headless?"

"That's Michael O'Brien," Tony says. His gaze locks guiltily with Happy's. "Kevin's brother," he says, softer.

Happy's eyes widen in understanding.

"And that's Steve," Tony says. "He's consulting on the Guardsman armor."

Steve gives Happy a friendly wave.

"Ah, Mr. Headless over there, I remember now, he was on the news?" At Tony's nod, Happy sighs. "We caught that broadcast all the way over in Thailand. Pepper was beside herself. Says it's our fault for leaving you in the lurch, you get in way too much trouble when you're on your own."

Tony squints even as Steve laughs behind him. "I don't know what you mean."

"So… is she your new beau? Krissy? I presume you mean the blonde in Pepper's chair."

"Krissy, a beau?" Tony shakes his head. "No, just a PA. Well, I say just, but she's been a godsend, honestly, do you know how few people in the world put up with my crap? Most of them are in this room right now."

"I wouldn't say _I _put up with it," Michael calls, sing-song.

"I don't know you but I like you," Happy tells him.

"Ugh, what to do," Tony says, screwing up his mouth for a second. He's genuinely torn, which is the only reason he's showing that he is. "I need Pep, that's non-negotiable." He sighs then snaps his fingers. "Got it. Manufacturing need a new HR rep, I suppose a promotion _and _getting to avoid me would be a double benefit?" He leans over and hits the comms button. "Hey, Krissy? It's me. Get down here—I've got some good news for you."

"I'm afraid I can't return the sentiment," Krissy says. Her voice seems thin. "In fact, I'm mostly just afraid."

Tony freezes in alarm. "Krissy?"

"Sending you a feed, monitor three," she says. Tony turns to stare at his bank of monitors and the third one flickers on, showing one of the CCTV feeds of the outside of the building, a wide camera that captures the whole site.

And the large golden flying fortress larger than his biggest factory on-site, descending to land on top of it. Glimmering text reads _Phrygia _on the side. Tony hurtles to his biggest command console, already typing furiously, while Steve runs for his portfolio, neatly resting against a corner wall.

"Red button over by the right-hand monitor," Tony calls over to Steve. "It'll connect you right through to the mansion."

The monitor to the left of the one showing the descending aircraft flickers on and Krissy's face fills it worriedly. "Sir, we're under attack," she says. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Tony says, already furiously thinking how to deal with this and get Steve out of there so he can put the armor on, "enact protocol seven, lock down the facilities, get the staff into the bunkers—"

"I've sent out the warning already, reports are coming in, most locations locked down," Krissy says. "I'm just sorry for _this_."

Tony stares blankly, uncomprehending, until the whole workroom goes black. Just for a second. When the lights come back on, it's a soft red glow, and Tony knows what's happening now, so he reaches out, trying to disrupt the process, but it's too late—there are thick metal bulletproof shutters slamming down all around the sides of the room, closing off the stairs and the elevator and strengthening the weakest parts of the walls.

The room is designed as a panic room. But it's supposed to be to keep Tony safe in case of a real emergency. Krissy shouldn't even have access to the protocol to activate it. Tony punches in his override codes, but each of them fails. He glances angrily up at the monitor where Krissy's face is still showing.

"I'm so sorry, Tony, but I've worked too hard to keep you safe," Krissy says. "Midas is attacking the facility and he has an _army_. I can't risk you being hurt."

"Dammit, Krissy," Tony says, pounding on the console, desperately trying to undo what she's done. "Let us out, you don't understand."

Krissy smiles ruefully. "That's not who I am, Tony," she says. Tony stares at the screen in confusion, as Krissy reaches up to her chin, tugs at something, and her face and hair slip to the ground.

Tony's mouth goes slack in shock when he realizes he knows the face of the person staring at him. He knows that golden mask and its sad, perfect smile. He knows it too well.

She goes by the name Madame Masque during her villainous escapades. She and Tony had several adventures together, including a terrible entanglement involving Midas and a LMD designed to look like Tony. Tony thought he and Madame Masque were falling in love, but it turned out to be a mistake—it turned out she loved another man.

Tony rarely calls her_ Madame Masque._ He more easily thinks of her with another name: Whitney Frost. The woman who had chosen Jasper Sitwell over him. Even though Tony's been trying to ignore that his heart is lost to another, losing her still stings.

"Whitney," Tony breathes. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

"I'm the one who saved that last armor for Iron Man," Whitney says. Tony hisses in a breath: the mystery figure who saved the armor for him. It was her? "I've been working to keep you safe behind the scenes, because you never do. You don't know how." She pulls up something, a gun, and now Tony can hear it—gunfire in the distance. "You know what these men are like, Tony. You've never been like them. You never understand the lengths some people will go to destroy what they can't have."

"Whitney, come on," Tony coaxes, "you know I can handle this. You can't keep us trapped in here."

"It's for your own good, Tony," Whitney says, and her voice crumples. "I'm sorry. Until Midas is dead, you're not leaving that room."

She leans closer to the screen, reaches a hand out, and the screen goes black.


	6. Chapter 6

I announce adhesiveness—I say it shall be limitless,

unloosened,

I say you shall yet find the friend you were looking for.

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

Tony slams his hands against the console and instantly regrets it. He pushes emotion aside and starts frantically typing.

"Tony, what do I do?" Happy asks.

"Uh, maybe tell this story a little more kindly when you get home to Pepper," Tony says, grimacing. "But… if you can disconnect Michael from the cement mixer, that would be great. There's an emergency power-off behind the chair, small silver panel. Flip it up, turn the switch to the left."

"Got it," Happy says. "Although I think Pepper will probably be relieved you have a panic room now and I'm inside it rather than on the outside."

"I can't get through to the mansion," Steve says, and hurries over to Tony's side, eyes roving over whatever Tony's trying to do. "Sitrep?"

"From what I can tell, most of the facility has been locked down but Midas has brought men," Tony says, and quails at the mass of heat signatures he can read on his displays. "A lot of men. She's locked me out of half of my systems," Tony mutters. "Dammit, _dammit_. Of course she can, she's—" He blinks furiously. Steve needs to know as much information as possible so he can use his keen tactical mind. "Whitney Frost. That's her name."

"She a beau or something?"

"Kind of an ex-girlfriend," Tony says.

"If her instinct is to lock you in a panic room in an attack, it can't have ended all that badly," Steve offers.

"Well, she was the head of the Maggia for a while," Tony says and he grins fiercely at Steve, all teeth. "I know how to pick them."

Steve lowers his voice and moves in even closer. "My identicard isn't working either."

Tony grimaces. "Hopefully an attack like this will be on the news soon enough." He pauses. "Except that Midas took over the media with a massive worldwide hoax last time. Of course he did. And with the retractions about Iron Man's death still in the forefront… Boy who cries wolf. So who knows if anyone will believe it?" Tony shakes himself. Midas' plan all along. He should have seen it coming. "There should be an automatic alert at the mansion anyway, I have proximity sensors on all my dangerous warehouses, but as the mansion's over fifty miles away, we might be on our own for a while."

"Iron Man?" Steve asks.

"He's… not easily available right now, unfortunately. We're probably on our own for a while." Tony pauses and then sighs. "Iron Man."

"What about him?" Steve looks worried.

"Well, this is a panic room," Tony says. "But it's one designed for Iron Man to get into if he needs. Krissy—_Whitney—_she wouldn't know about the tunnel. Iron Man dug it out himself."

"Are we trapped?" Michael asks, jogging up to join them, Happy hovering behind him. He turns and eyes the Guardsman armor speculatively.

"_Conditions_, O'Brien, don't even think about it," Tony says, snapping his fingers in Michael's face to stop him from looking at the Guardsman armor. "Not worth frying your brain when we have options. This is my facility. I can get us out." He winces at a faint sound, imagining explosions and hating everything about it. "Hopefully before Midas blows the whole place sky high. Uh, Steve—there's a panel over there in the middle of the floor, under that worktop. Michael, if you could help him move it?"

Steve really doesn't need the help, but the last thing Tony wants is to force Steve to reveal his identity as Captain America to Happy. Happy's traumatized enough by knowing _one_ Avenger's real identity.

Tony catches Michael looking at the Guardsman armor again, and he sighs. He knows that look.

"Remember what you promised, O'Brien," Tony says, snapping his fingers to get Michael's attention. "_Kittens and hammers_."

"Yeah, yeah," Michael mutters despondently, and forcibly tears his gaze away.

"Right, uh..." Tony says. "Steve, you have that invention with you, that could get you down a hundred feet drop, right?"

Steve blinks at Tony confused as he shifts the worktop out of the way, letting Michael pretend to help. "Oh, yeah," Steve says, realizing what Tony's hinting at. "It's in my portfolio."

Tony drops to the floor and releases the secret catch, revealing the hatchway he comes through as Iron Man when he needs to get into the facility unseen. The tunnel leads to below the administration blocks. Tony twists the small release valves that are the hatchway's backup controls. Normally there's a signal in Iron Man's armor that opens it remotely, but whatever is blocking the identicards from working is stopping Tony from being able to open it with his wristband.

He straightens once it opens and backs up away from the hole.

"Hap, sorry to do this, but, you don't have clearance for what Steve's got with him," Tony says, clapping Happy on the shoulder and forcibly turning him away from the hatch. Steve gives him a weird look, but unzips the porfolio to get his shield out. "Fifty-foot drop, then it starts curving to go horizontal. Fifty feet further on, hatch at the end, that'll take you up into administration. It should be locked down but go up three floors, there's a service hatch in the ceiling of boarding room 12. They're sequentially numbered. That'll get you up to the roof. You good from there?"

"Think I can handle that," Steve says, and he looks at Tony seriously. "I'll go get help. You stay here safe until Iron Man can get you, then get him to take you straight to a safe house, okay?"

"Got it," Tony says. "I'll send Iron Man straight back here."

Steve nods and just leaps down the tunnel without a second glance, because he's an Avenger. Tony can't judge him. They're all pretty high up the reckless scale.

"Can I turn around now?" Happy asks.

"Of course," Tony says. He peers down the tunnel, counts to five, and then twists his wrists in the gesture to activate the armor. He can't help but feel better the instant that the red-and-gold armor unfolds smoothly around him.

"Uh, boss?" Michael breathes, finally startled into being able to speak again. "Oh, yeah. Happy knows you're Iron Man, you already told me that."

"If I asked you to stay in here, would you?" Tony asks, flipping up the faceplate so he can look at both Michael and Happy seriously.

He already knows he can't leave either of them in here with the Guardsman armor unprotected, because both of them are dumb enough to try and put it on. It's not only the Avengers who dabble with their placement on the reckless scale. He glances briefly at the wall safe. With the building power interrupted by Midas' attack, the Iron Man armor is safely locked away, but the only way to keep the Guardsman armor absolutely safe from even the attacking Midas is for them all to leave the room. The hatch can be rigged to lock behind them and Tony can collapse the tunnel too. The whole room can still be rigged to explode, taking out its secrets, if Tony thinks it would come to that. Better all his secret projects get destroyed than fall into Midas' hands.

"Well," Happy says, "if Iron Man's going to fight, Tony Stark needs to go to safety. It would make sense for Michael and I to be, uh, Tony's alibi for the fight."

"Well, I suppose it can't be helped," Tony says, dropping to flip the switches on the hatch so it will close behind them. "Fancy giving me another hug, Hap?"

"While you're in _that_ thing?" Happy asks, mouth downturned, but he shrugs and opens his arms wide, which is probably also not going in their version of today's events when they tell Pepper either.

"Come on, O'Brien, there's room for you too," Tony says, flipping the faceplate back down and shuffling forwards. Happy climbs on first, putting his feet on the top of Iron Man's boots, and then Michael awkwardly wraps his arms around Iron Man's shoulders. "Grip with your knees," he tells Michael, and then he activates his boot jets. "Hold on tight, men. We're going down."

Tony lowers them down the long tunnel at a much lower speed than he usually goes as Iron Man, flies them carefully around the curve and then lowers to the ground as soon as he can. There's a photon beam in his right glove that he actives at a single percentage of his power and the small tunnel lights up, and Tony takes the lead, because he has no idea what he's going to come out into. There's been enough time for Steve to change into his uniform and go and join the fight, but there is still a chance Steve is out there and the end of the tunnel, and he'll see Tony climb out as Iron Man with no sign of Tony in sight, but Tony would rather risk his secret identity than risk Happy or Michael with injury.

The entirety of life as an Avenger is a balancing game. The safest thing for Happy and Michael may have been to stay in the panic room. Unless Midas decided to obliterate the whole building; Tony's not sure if his panic room is strong enough to survive a very big blast. Which he might try and do, because Midas has a long history of scorching earth he cannot have for himself. So it's maybe just as dangerous for Happy and Michael to stay as go. If they stayed in that panic room without Tony, then the Guardsman would have gone on someone's body, no question, but Tony couldn't have stayed without feeling immensely guilty at not helping his employees as much as he can as Iron Man.

This is the best play for everyone. And if Tony has to sacrifice his life as an Avenger to protect two of the most important people to him, and fight on as Iron Man alone, then so be it.

Tony almost feels light-headed when he climbs out of the secret entrance at the end of the tunnel and there isn't anyone around. He can hear gunshots and shouting in the distance, and maybe smaller explosions, and his body is a knot of feelings. At least the security cameras are each showing blue lights underneath, Tony's secret sign to show that the defense protocol has been activated and all his staff should be safe in panic rooms of their own. Tony really hates that it's necessary, but he's a futurist. He's prepared for a hundred different scenarios. He has to be.

Knowing his staff are as safe as he could possibly make them in the situation, Tony turns his attention back to the matter at hand—driving Midas away and keeping his friends safe. The second thing is probably his first priority. He'll be better at fighting Midas once he knows Michael and Happy are safe. To that end he turns around and quickly helps Michael and Happy out of the hatch.

"Three floors up, right?" Michael asks, eyes already casting around for the stairs.

"That was for Steve," Tony says. "He needed a ceiling. Now I know the staff are all in the bunkers, we've got a different exit." He turns his mask in Michael's direction and smirks, even though because of the mask it's absolutely wasted. "Steve doesn't have the key I do."

Happy and Michael follow Tony as he jogs quickly to the basement stairs, pausing briefly to glance outside the window. Tony can only catch a glimpse of blue and red in the distance, too fast to really identify if it's Captain America, and there's the ominous mass of gold high up in the sky like a shining treehouse. Phrygia. Midas' fortress. Mordecai Midas is a piece of work, that's for sure.

"What are you thinking?" Happy says, following Tony closely behind.

"Armory, and then car park," Tony says. "The blue Bugati should still be there. You and Michael could go right out through the underground road, if Midas hasn't closed it off yet."

"Then shouldn't we be heading the other way?" Happy asks.

"I don't want you to be unprotected," Tony says. "As much as I would want to escort you the entire way, I don't think either of you would be happy with me leaving the fight here."

"Aw, he knows me so well already," Michael says.

"Not that I want to question you, Tony, but—where _are_ you headed? This is a dead-end," Happy says, squinting.

Tony smirks. It's lost behind his mask, but Happy's known him long enough that it's obvious in his tone. "To you, maybe. Not to Iron Man. Hang back a moment." He puts up one hand and both Happy and Michael draw short. Tony steps away from them and towards what looks like a dead-end corridor, bookended by two doors that lead to a stationery closet on one side, and an archive room opposite it. He powers up both repulsor rays and deploys them at half strength to the weak part of the wall.

It explodes outwards in a satisfying burst of brickwork and Tony's smirk widens.

"This way," Tony says.

He designed this entire building, in order to put in the back routes and emergency escape routes. This one was supposed to be more of a plan Z, but Tony doesn't want to take any risks when it comes to Midas, because he's not the most rational of Tony's usual foes. Besides, this is the quickest and safest route to get to Tony's destination: the armory.

_Stark International_ may not be a weapons company, but it does still produce cutting-edge technology and research, all which needs to be defended. His security department need to be armed. So why would Tony give them just regular weapons when he can give them _Stark_ defensive devices?

Tony leads Michael and Happy the way at a fast clip. When he slows, Happy's breathing hard.

"I'm starting to think I should have taken another week off," Happy whines, but he doesn't look that angry.

The armory looks like just another section of wall, part of its defense, and Tony enjoys the baffled look on Michael and Happy's faces as he walks up to what looks like another dead-end and palms open the secret panel, typing in his private code to open it. The walls smoothly split apart to reveal a half-empty rack of different tools. Net launchers. Tasers. Proton shields. Pepper sprays. Tranq darts. Smoke grenades. Water cannons. An entire rainbow of things that can be used to trap, capture and stall invaders without killing them.

And there's still two racks left of the main item of _Stark International_'s defensive arsenal: the KOB MK3.

Tony pulls out two, hands one to Happy and one to Michael, and closes up the armory. When he turns back, both Happy and Michael are staring down at them.

"What is this, boss?" Michael asks.

"Better call me Iron Man when I'm in the suit," Tony says, and Michael winces apologetically. "They're stun guns. You ever played laser tag? Same deployment. Point and hold the trigger. Same concept as a gun, though. Don't point it at someone unless you want them knocked out."

"Sorry," Happy says, lowering his stun gun.

"Kevin used to love laser tag," Michael says, testing the weight of the stun gun experimentally. "Even if I used to kick his ass every time we played, of course."

"I'm not surprised he liked it," Tony says. "He's the one who made them."

Michael looks up from the stun gun to Tony's face, his eyes suddenly moist, and his eyes drift back to the stun gun and the name embossed in the side: _KOB MK3._ "KOB," Michael says, and his voice hitch when he says, "Kevin O'Brien."

"This is what Kevin made, the thing that drew my attention to him for the first time," Tony says, trying to keep his voice as soft as the modulator will allow. "His invention keeps all my facilities safe now, worldwide."

Michael still looks emotional as he looks at the weapon, except when he looks back up at Tony, there's a fierceness in his eyes and he smirks, grimly. "Can I have one of these on the Guardsman armor?"

"You can have two," Tony promises. "Come on, we need to get a move on."

He sets off in the right direction to get them out of there this time, heading back through the hole he made and heading the right way this time to get them to the underground car park. It extends out from under _Stark International_, so Tony's hoping it's safe. He quickens his pace just in case.

"So if Michael here gets an armor, does that mean I get one too?" Happy asks.

"Would Pepper approve of that?" Tony asks.

"Ha, she'd probably just be mad she didn't get an armor first," Happy says.

Tony laughs, and the only reason he doesn't immediately start mentally creating an armor for her is because he's already spent several weeks pleasantly daydreaming about the kind of armor she might like. His smile soon fades though when they get back to the ground level of the administration building in order to head for the right set of stairs and he catches a glimpse of the window and he grinds to a halt despite himself, even though he knows the longer he waits to join the battle, the higher the risk of civilian casualties.

He can't help it. The sight feels like it's crawled out of one of his nightmares. Tony stares, his poor beleaguered heart racing.

What's attacking his factory… is _Iron Man._

And not just one of them.

Lots of them.

An entire army of _Iron Men_.

* * *

After Tony's initial shock fades away, he's at least able to realize it's not his old armors, just some sort of copy. There isn't any of the careful construction Tony prides himself on. It's still bad, but it's not as bad as it could be. These armors are probably weaker.

He thinks it answers the question pretty thoroughly _who_ has been stealing his armors—if it was ever in question at all—even though it still doesn't answer _how_. It also answers the question on why Midas stole a whole lot of alloys.

To make these _mockeries_ of his armor.

Tony's stomach clenches and he hates everything.

"What do we do?" Happy hisses, right at his side.

Tony stares up at the sky, letting himself be blindsided by the sight for a second, before locking away his panic and formulating a plan. "We get you and Michael out of here," he says, firmly. "No arguments. Then—" His gaze settles on one of the buildings in the distance which looks like Midas hasn't touched it yet. Probably doesn't think it's important. "I guess I have a plan." He takes one last look out at the chaos and turns away, determinedly. "Come on, let's get you two out of here."

Michael looks like he wants to protest, taking one look back in the relative direction of Tony's workroom, and Tony's stomach clenches. He can't afford to give him the chance to even try and go back for the Guardsman armor. It's not fixed. It's nowhere near. Michael's brain will just end up scrambled again and Tony will have to fight him _too_.

There must be enough determination in his movement because Happy and Michael follow him without protest. Tony blasts another hole through the floor when he reaches the right part of the building to do so, not wanting to risk Happy and Michael moving anywhere outside the buildings now he knows what's out there. He lowers them both down into the lower room, another maintenance area. When he opens the door from there into a tunnel that leads to the underground car park he's able to relax a fraction, because the air is still. For all the chaos Midas is spreading on the surface, for all the untold destruction, it hasn't reached this part of the facility.

Tony hurries with them over to the blue car that will take them. The car has a thumbprint ignition, so feeling a little exposed, Tony twists his wrists and the suit collapses back into the chestplate. He steadfastly doesn't look at Happy and Michael, because the clothes don't automatically expand with the wrist activators. He needs to physically re-dress with the aid of the small unstable molecule powered strips that Reed gave him. The underground car park's really cold; Tony's glad he at least keeps his chestplate and underwear when the suit collapses. Tony leans in and presses his thumbprint to activate the car.

"Your old code should get you into the penthouse suite," Tony tells Happy. "You still remember it?"

"Of course," Happy says. He stares at Tony helplessly.

"Will you be all right, boss?" Michael asks, hands gripped on his KOB MK3, eyes dark.

"I'll only be able to fight at full strength if I know you're both okay," Tony says, firmly. "Stay safe. And be my alibi, would you? Tony Stark should be fleeing somewhere like this." He twists his wrists in unison and the suit swiftly climbs over his body.

"Never gets old seeing that," Michael says. He reaches out and claps Tony on the arm. "Go save the day, Iron Man. We'll make our escape. I promise."

Tony nods. From the expressions on their faces, he thinks they've both somewhat misinterpreted his words, and are taking it as their job to keep the other one safe. Well. Whatever gets the job done. He wants to hover like a nanny, but he knows neither Happy or Michael would appreciate that. He has to go join the fight.

He leaps into the air. Without anyone having to follow him by foot, he can fly.

The route up to the surface feels like it takes forever, even with Iron Man's full speed under his command. Tony's stomach sinks as he bursts out into the open air into the fray, because it's pure chaos everywhere he can see.

It's a good thing he has so much actual physical experience fighting battles now, because the muscle memory takes over for him. He jets up high to get a better sight, and moves defensively, keeping his back to one of the taller buildings so he can't be hit from behind. He powers up both repulsor rays, already narrowing his eyes to cycle through the various lenses that his mask is equipped with. The sensor systems already highlight an instant weakness in the fake Iron Man bots that are zooming around the place—at the neck and at the base of where Tony's spine would be, if he was in them. The infrared lenses show that the suits are unoccupied, so Tony doesn't have to pull his punches to defeat them. Except he doesn't plan to really _punch_ most of them. Why punch when he can blast them out of the sky?

There are three of the fake Iron Men zooming up to meet him, and Tony rolls in an evasive pattern to avoid two of them, and targets the third one, needing to know how much energy it's going to take in order to destroy one of them. He flies up higher, wondering if Midas has managed to overcome some of the thrust propulsion issues when traveling vertically, and he grins as the fake Iron Men have trouble following him up.

The height gives him an uncomfortable view of the battlefield, and how much destruction Midas has already caused. Tony's going to be rebuilding for _weeks,_ and that's if he can curtail the destruction right now. He focuses his attention on the nearest fake Iron Man. He needs a better name for them. _Mechanoid,_ he thinks, and it'll do.

It takes four handblasts to the spine area, and two to the neck to cause one Mechanoid to shatter into pieces. With that knowledge in hand, Tony adjusts his flight pattern so that he can evade their own handblasts and deliver his own. The Mechanoids have a limited range of movement and are restricted to a single form of attack, either twin hand repulsor-type blasts, or one concentrated ray from the chest. Two Mechanoids dissolve into parts, but the second one blows up mid-air, and Tony re-scans them. They're heating up. Dammit. Midas hasn't figured out the coolant system that Tony uses to stop the resistance between the nano-transistors building up. The Mechanoids are time bombs.

Once he has the patterns of their movements recognized, it's easier to work on taking out the Mechanoids. The emphasis there is on the comparative _easier_, because it's definitely not easy. Tony wishes he knew what Midas _wanted_, beyond ruining Tony's life. He wants the company, but Tony's thwarted his other attempts. It must be that old villainous adage. _If I can't have it, no one can._

Tony takes out another two Mechanoids trying to shatter all the windows in his plastics development labs, and turns to where several of Midas' non-Mechanoid foot soldiers are rigging up explosions near the administration building. Trying to get to the secure bunkers below. Tony burns with anger and flies directly at them, and then has to make a dangerously last-minute swerve to avoid his head being taken off by a very familiar object.

"Cap, it's _me_," Tony yells, the modulator picking up his voice and amplifying it. He steadies himself and watches as Steve catches his shield when it ricochets off the wall behind where Tony was, a second before.

Steve's face falls as he realizes how close he came to hitting the actual Iron Man with his shield. He rallies rapidly enough as Tony flies over closer to him. "I'm sorry, I thought you were one of those—Are those your other armors?"

"I think they're some sort of copies," Tony says. "I've been calling them Mechanoids. They're weak at the neck and the base of the spine. They're overheating too, unfortunately, but they are unoccupied, so you can hit them with extreme prejudice."

"Excellent," Steve says. "I finally got a signal through to the others, but the signal was spotty—I wasn't able to give them a full sitrep."

Tony narrows his eyes when he sees Midas descending from his fortress ship down to the main ground. Steve follows his gaze and his jaw tightens.

"Is that an exoskeleton?" Tony squints at Midas, because that's new. Usually Midas is stuck in his floating throne.

Steve hefts his shield and actually grins like he's excited about fighting Midas, because apparently being deep-frozen did strange things to a person's brain. "I've had some practice with that recently, thanks to your boss."

Iron Man's mask hides Tony's pleased smirk at the way some things work out. "I'll take point on defense if you want to go play," Tony offers.

Tony blasts a Mechanoid, just by extending a hand outwards, while Steve prevaricates. Steve's eyes flicker out over the battlefield, assessing the situation.

"The Avengers aren't that far out," Steve says, after his brief pause. "Maybe you should go hide until we can be sure they won't attack you when they turn up?"

Tony shakes his head. "We don't have the time for that. But don't worry, I've got an idea. Tell the Avengers when they get here to think green. Neon green." He jets off before Steve can say something, but there's no time to waste. He might have been able to duck Steve's shield, but that's just one Avenger, and probably the one he's had the most practice sparring against. If the others get here and assume he's just one of the other impostors attacking _Stark International,_ Tony probably wouldn't emerge unscathed. He grins as he plots his path through the melee to the building he's searching for, weaving through the Mechanoids and Midas' gold-and-blue-clad foot soldiers. He does love getting to thwart a supervillain plan or two.

The building he's aiming for isn't populated at this time of the day, so hasn't been included in the shutdown protocols. It looks a little scorched, Midas leaving no building untouched in his helter-skelter of destruction, but it looks structurally intact. Right until Tony powers up his repulsor beam and blasts a massive hole in the loading bay doors, because he doesn't have time to hack the systems manually to get in. He zooms in through the hole he's made and heads straight to the back of the warehouse with the equipment he needs.

Thanks to the fact that Steve wanted to include every warehouse in the tour, Tony knows the green paint is already loaded in the device he pulls out. It's an experimental vehicle-painting device that he keeps giving to Stark interns to mess around with. No one's managed to paint a car in one spray yet, and the current model is a little too patchy to be useful, but Tony doesn't need 100% coverage for this plan.

Tony hurtles back out the way he came in, ready to start spraying. If he ends up spraying some of Midas' centurion-wannabe minions along the way, well, it's war; Tony's not going to be that particular about who gets a face full of luminous green paint.

He powers up his jet boots to their fullest as he exits the warehouse, starting to fly forwards at full speed, and then _something_ barrels into him that he doesn't anticipate. Tony lets out a yelp, tumbling head over heels and smashing hard into the side of the administration building. He drops the paint sprayer. Glass splinters over him. Tony gets a glimpse of blue, red, and gold, which is baffling. None of the current Avengers have that combination of colors, so he risks throwing out a quick succession of repulsor blasts from his hands as he gets his orientation back.

The colorful figure swears loudly and _barely reacts at all_ to the repulsor blasts. Even though they're at full power. Some sort of blue spandex covers the man's main body, with a red and gold tabard and belt, gold boots, and a mask that covers the right half of the man's face.

Recognition floods in. Tony can't believe it. The figure flying in front of him is the same guy that tried to follow him to work the other day. Jack of Hearts. That's it.

Sadly his moment of recognition is simultaneously a moment of inaction, which Jack of Hearts takes advantage of, zooming straight at Tony and slamming into him with a force that steals Tony's breath away for a hot second. If the Iron Man armor wasn't reinforced to the height of Tony's skills and abilities, he'd probably have been crushed by the hit.

Tony's thrown by the hit, hurtling head over heels and landing hard in the reinforced metal barricades protecting his engineering department. He moves as soon as he can, noticing the hit has dented the barricades a little. Tony's brain instantly calculates the math because that's just how his brain works; Jack of Hearts punched him with what could only amount to around 25 tons of sheer force.

"Stop right there, you fake Iron Man," Jack of Hearts yells, "I won't let you hurt this place!" He bunches his fists as Tony rises back into the air. "Tony Stark's a good man!"

"For goodness's sake," Tony yells. "I _am _Iron Man."

Jack of Hearts narrows his eyes. "I bet you're programmed to say that," he yells, and barrels himself at Tony again.

Tony swallows back several choice swear words and decides not to hold back, because all forces have an equal and opposite reaction, and if Jack can punch that hard, and take four repulsor blasts without a reaction, he has to be durable enough to take it. The trouble is, Jack's managing to brace for each attempted hit and repulsor blast. Sadly, Tony guesses, the Mechanoids seem to be using those techniques too. Tony narrows his eyes. Time to use a technique that Jack's not expecting.

Tony moves in closer, bracing himself in return for Jack's attempt to hit him, and he locks his arms around Jack's neck.

"None of the rest of them are even talking," Tony hisses, right into Jack's ear, and activates the diamond-drill attachment on his right hand, slicing deep into the material of Jack's suit. "Stop attacking me, you idiot!"

"None of the—" Jack flies back, Tony opening his grip to let him, and he glances around. The side of his face not covered by his half-mask falls and he looks back at Tony in shock. "They're not talking, you're right! Oh my god, _Iron Man_. I tried to kill the real Iron Man!" His mouth gapes. "Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Tony stares back impassively. "I tried."

"Oh. Oh, yeah." Jack shakes his head. "I'm so sorry! I came to help you, I swear, this is awful. I know Tony Stark's a good man, my father always said so, and I just wanted to help, I promise."

"We'll unpack your motivations later," Tony says, firmly. "For now, we have to focus on the _real_ problem." He nods in Midas's direction, where Captain America is fighting him. Midas is wearing some sort of exoskeleton, and looking surprised every time Steve manages to parry one of his blows. Tony smirks inwardly. He wasn't expecting to get such an instant payoff to Michael's exoskeleton training, but he'll definitely take it.

"Uh, I would, except, there's a problem," Jack says.

"I can see about a thousand problems just from here," Tony says grimly. "You might want to be more specific."

"Well—See—My suit, it, uh. It keeps my power contained," Jack says. "And you kind of ripped it while you were fighting me, so—"

"You're kind of a hot mess, aren't you, kid?" Tony mutters, resisting the urge to facepalm. Preferably with his repulsors at full power. "Get out of here."

"But—"

"What happens if you don't?"

"I might explode," Jack mutters. "Fine, fine. I'll go. I'm sorry for nearly killing you. Tell your boss I need to have a word with him, yeah?"

Jack takes up into the air and flies off before Tony can respond.

"You didn't nearly kill me," Tony calls after him, belatedly.

Then he realizes he's still in the middle of a battlefield. He can see the Avengers quinjet in the distance now, and he doesn't even have time to be relieved, because he's still the wrong color in the middle of a red-and-gold melee.

Tony dives down for the sprayer and gets painting, shooting everything in the face that moves. Midas is still fighting Steve in the distance, but Steve is holding his own. Tony has to shoot down a couple of Mechanoids that try and intervene, but otherwise, Tony keeps spraying. This version of the experimental painting device deploys really well; Tony makes a mental note to reward the current crops of _Stark International_ interns. That's if any of them want to come back after this.

Maybe that's a fundamental part of Midas' plan. Salt the earth. Poison the wells. A company is only as good as the people involved. Hopefully Tony's security bunkers are working well and no one's hurt. He spent a lot of time designing them. He has an idea about bubbles that he'll explore later, a way to protect someone and remove them from the site of an attack the moment the alert sounds.

The Avengers park the quinjet on top of Midas' ship _Phrygia_, which is a beautiful power move, and Tony grins up as he sees a familiar golden blur coming straight out of the quinjet—Simon already hurtling into battle. He's quickly followed by Hank, Jan, and Clint. Steve's managed to get the message through to them, because Jan sees Tony and just waves instead of sending some of her deadly sting blasts his way.

Yeah, Tony smirks to himself, Midas has no chance now.

* * *

"Well," Clint says, looking over the whole scene, "your boss isn't going to like this."

"I don't know," Tony offers, following Clint's gaze. Sitwell has turned up with a lot of SHIELD personnel, and they're currently leading away a lot of Midas' soldiers in handcuffs, and some of the SHIELD agents are diligently leading out Tony's employees to safety. Apart from one of his typing pool who's suffering an asthma attack from some of the brick dust in the air, no one's hurt. Not even a twisted ankle. Tony's safety protocols have deployed immaculately. "No fatalities. I think he'll be pretty pleased, actually."

"I don't think I'd have been pleased if my company got this messed up," Simon says, sourly kicking at the remains of one of the Stark delivery trucks.

"Well, you're not an engineer yourself, I suppose," Tony says, shrugging. "They like it when you blow up old stuff. It means they get to make up some new shit to replace it."

"Yeah, that's just what we need, yet another excuse for Mr. Stark to hole up in his lab and never come out," Steve says.

Tony blinks as the Avengers all nod at once.

"I kind of miss him being at the mansion, so we could sometimes drag him away from his work," Jan sighs. "All work and no play, can't be good for him."

Tony looks away, feeling a little uncomfortable. Some of his most pleasant memories of the last few months had been when the Avengers invited him to join them to do something. But the idea of them feeling like it was some sort of chore, something they felt indebted to do because of his money… He hates the idea of that, but he can't think of any other way they could mean it.

He distracts himself by watching Midas shriek and yell as Sitwell leads him away, heavily restrained, and then his head jerks upwards automatically as he catches a glimpse of movement—someone trying to escape from the _Phrygia_. "We've got a straggler," Tony says, "be right back." He jets up into the air before the Avengers can even say something to stop him. They're used to it by now.

Whomever it is trying to flee from Midas' fortress has lowered a rope ladder and is trying to escape in a hurry. Tony's too far away to identify him, so he assumes it's one of Midas' scientists or tech support, and it's only when he's close enough to grab the guy when he realizes who it is.

Abe Klein.

Tony's stomach drops and his arms, reaching out to stop Klein's descent, falter.

Klein stops where he is, mid-climb, and stares at Tony, eyes wide. Tony stares back at his ex-teacher. Klein had seemed so genuine when he came to ask Tony for a job, and Tony had been so _happy, _and he's… He's been the one betraying Tony.

The missing armors. The fact whoever took them must have had access to all of _Stark International_. Of course Klein fit the bill. Tony trusted him. Tony _trusted_ him.

"You," Tony says, the modulator rippling his voice so it sounds as sharp as a knife. Klein flinches like his words are a blade. "You're working with Midas."

"I'm sorry," Klein says, and his eyes are wet. "You don't understand, I had to."

"Explain," Tony says, as steadily as he can, hovering in mid-air and powering up a single repulsor, keeping his palm trained on Klein's face.

Klein's shoulders hunch. "He has Rachel and Sarah, Iron Man," Klein says. His voice sounds wrecked. Tony's scans pick up on his bio-signals and they're all much higher than he should be. Klein's panicking, and it's more than just being caught. "My wife and daughter. I haven't seen them since the war, but Midas—He has proof—He has pictures. I can't walk away from my family. Please, tell Tony I'm sorry."

Tony stares. It's hard to swallow. Klein's eyes are wide with fear and trained on Tony's glowing repulsor. Tony sighs and lowers his hand. He can't shoot his beloved mentor in the face.

Instead, he picks Klein bodily under the armpits and deposits him by Sitwell, who is startled until Tony explains that Klein is likely the mole and needs to be questioned to see if he's working alone. Sitwell always responds to Iron Man much more quickly than he ever does to Tony Stark. Tony would probably be offended, but even he agrees Iron Man trumps Tony Stark any day of the week.

When Tony flies back over to where Steve is, the rest of the Avengers have disbursed to do a site-wide check, to make sure there's no other civilians trapped anywhere. Steve's obviously waiting for him, sitting on a pile of bricks and gripping his shield between his fingers like he's still tense that there might be another battle looming on the horizon.

"What was that?" Steve says, gesturing up the still-swinging rope ladder from Midas' floating golden fortress. "Or should I ask who?"

"His name is Abe Klein," Tony says, nodding at where Sitwell is eagerly leading Klein away for questioning. "He was working for _Stark International._ Used to be Stark's teacher, back at MIT." Tony looks over at the curve of Klein's bowed head as Sitwell pushes him into an armored van. "Guess at least we know who was letting Midas get hold of the old Iron Man armors."

Steve nods and looks at Tony appraisingly. "And Tony? Where is he?"

Tony blinks, unused to hearing his own name like that from Steve while he's Iron Man. Usually Steve calls him _Mr. Stark _to Iron Man's mask. "Soho penthouse," he says, shortly.

"I'd appreciate if you went and made sure he got there okay," Steve says, getting to his feet and looking around.

Tony's torn, not wanting to leave until he's cataloged all the fixes he'll need to do to _Stark International_ for himself. Steve leans forward and puts a heavy hand on Tony's shoulder.

"I'll make sure everyone here is all right," Steve continues. Tony finally nods, steadied under Steve's touch. Steve has his back. "Call me on my identicard when you know. I'll be able to update him too when you call."

"Will do," Tony says, and turns and flies up into the sky, resolving not to look back.

That resolve shatters and he hovers high above the air, staring down miserably at his headquarters.

Broken. _But not gone,_ a small strong voice inside of him whispers, and Tony latches onto that voice and holds onto it, like it's a beacon of hope.


	7. Chapter 7

O thicker and faster!

O crowding too close upon me!

I foresee too much—it means more than I thought,

It appears to me I am dying.

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

It's a measure of Tony's preparedness in this age of supervillainy that _Stark International_ is back up and running in two weeks.

It's not_ perfect. _A lot of the outer buildings are gone, and several departments are temporarily having to commute to the New Jersey facility. Tony's rented out two entire hotels so that his engineers don't pass out on the road. It's probably going to take a few months to have his outer buildings remade, but Tony's modular way of organizing his company already means his other headquarters all around the world are devoting a small percentage of their workers towards the fix.

_Stark International_ is truly a global enterprise. It's so much bigger and better than his father ever envisioned it becoming; Howard would probably still criticize him somehow. He pushes that thought away. _Stark Industries_ was an idea, but _Stark International_ is the real legacy.

Even better, not a single person—beyond Abe Klein, due to his incarceration and everything—has left the company. Everyone was safe. No one wanted to leave, even though Tony offered a generous severance package for anyone who did want to leave, offering to keep paying their salary until they found a new job. He's kind of emotional about it, to be honest.

The cafeteria is one of the buildings that survived, much to the disappointment of his security division, who didn't really approve of the mandatory fruit-and-vegetable additions to their meals as part of Tony's subsidized meal program for employees.

There's been no sign of Whitney since it all went down, and Tony doesn't know whether to be upset or disappointed. Krissy had been such a good PA, but having someone so close to him that he relied on, _lying_ to him, and wearing a golden mask to hide her face, it's… Okay, yeah, he can't even really be mad; it's much too close to the knuckle for Tony to really bear thinking about for too long.

He knows Madame Masque fought Midas for a while in Midas' ship, because Sitwell has passed on all of Midas' confessions—Midas is talking like a leaky tap to try and get a reduced sentence—but at some point during the battle she disappeared. As misguided and annoying it was for her to lock him in his panic room, Tony hopes she's okay.

Probably thanks to Whitney, his administration building is mostly sound, and so are his research and development labs. His workroom-slash-panic room is also intact, apart from the collapsed tunnel, but Tony's been taking a few minutes every day as Iron Man to re-blast that tunnel so it's available again.

Tony's workroom surviving means all his inventions are fine, including the brain-scanner; Michael's supposed to be coming by later for another brain-scan. Now his immediate panic over his business is gone, Tony can re-focus back on his original problem: making the Guardsman armor work without scrambling the mind of the wearer.

Knowing Michael was coming, Tony probably would have stayed in his workroom. But there's something luring him out, and it's not even the fact that it's mac-and-cheese day in the cafeteria: Pepper's finally agreed to come back for real.

Tomorrow is her official first day, but she wants a day to check out how the rebuilding is going. Considering she originally left because _Stark International_ wasn't safe, Tony's surprised she's still interested in returning. It's probably due to all the protective measures Tony engaged to keep Happy safe.

Apparently she's also impressed at how hard Tony is working to ensure the Guardsman armor is safe. He thinks it means he's finally an actual grown-up in her eyes, instead of the immature idiot who tried to leave all his business decisions once-upon-a-time in the hands of a rookie secretary. Tony shakes his head ruefully at the memory. Pepper had _no_ idea what she was doing when she brought herself to his attention. Then again, at the time, neither did Tony. He just wanted to sit and invent, not have to deal with boring things like management decisions and business projections.

Sadly, it's a necessary evil. If Tony wants to be Iron Man _and_ make _Stark International_ succeed _and_ keep all his employees safe and happy, then his life just needs to comprise of compartments.

Michael's due to stop by very soon, so Tony sends him a quick message to meet him in the cafeteria, having finally found a spare five minutes to make Michael his own identicard. Well, identicard-_lite_. Michael won't get paged, but he can text message any of the Avengers—including "Iron Man"—and he can also message Tony any time he likes. It's faster than a phone and more reliable than any cell network in New York, because it uses some of Tony's very own satellites to do it.

As he hurries to the cafeteria himself, Tony enters and catches a glimpse of Pepper and Happy sitting with plates of food already; he grins so widely that he feels like his face might crack with it. He missed them so much. He gestures at the queue by the kitchen serving hatch, and Pepper gives him a thumbs-up gesture, well versed in his reputation for not exactly keeping regular dinner times. He joins the end of the queue, smiling broadly at the receptionist in the queue ahead of him, who's so shocked to see him in the cafeteria with the rest of them that she nearly knocks over the glass of water balanced already on her tray.

Although Tony's trying to pretend just to be a regular worker—he feels like using the common facilities is a fundamental part of encouraging his employees to use them—the server on duty winks at him and gives him an extra-large piece of garlic bread and an extra ear of corn. Tony glances back at Pepper, who shrugs innocently. Even though she's not technically back at work yet, she's already meddling. Goodness, he missed her.

It's while he's sitting down opposite Happy, somehow unable to stop smiling, that his _Tony Stark_ identicard beeps, and he slides that out of his pocket as he settles his tray down. The message is brief. "ETA: 5 minutes. Bringing SR!" He puts it back in his pocket. His smile doesn't fade.

_Iron Man_ has seen _Captain America_ twice since that day. Once for a full sit-down report on everything they've discovered about the attack, and once for a team-mandated practice. But it's been a while since he's seen Steve out of uniform. Since the attack, actually.

"You look happy," Pepper remarks, as Tony stirs some milk into his coffee.

"Hey, I'm right here, y'know." Happy grins as he makes the old joke, and Pepper and Tony share a rueful grin.

"I'm in a good mood for once," Tony agrees. "Can't think why that might be. Not like my two favorite employees are here for lunch."

"Aw, Iron Man's coming for lunch too?" Happy grins again at his own joke.

"You're hilarious," Tony says, rolling his eyes. "Michael O'Brien is joining us, though, I hope you don't mind."

"I already met him," Pepper says. "He came by with that blue Avenger to check up on how Happy was doing after the attack."

"I didn't know he did that," Tony says.

"Well, you go tunnel-vision when you're busy," Happy says, shrugging. "This we know all too well."

"It's one of the reasons we're back," Pepper says, nodding. "We talked with Michael about it. It's good for you to have people you can talk to. People who can call you on your bullshit."

Tony feels a little ganged-up on, but he kind of likes the feeling as much as he also really hates it. He's a complex person, okay? "You've _definitely_ met Michael O'Brien before," he declares. He softens. "I'm glad you liked him." He looks down at his food so he's not looking them in the face when he manages to add, "You'd have both loved his brother. I'm sorry you never really got to meet him properly."

"You should tell us about him sometime," Pepper says, softly.

"Michael has better stories, you should ask him," Tony says. "Not just stories about Kevin, great stories in general. The Avengers have taken to him really quickly." He frowns and tries to start eating the mac-and-cheese. He doesn't know if it's exceptionally good, or if he's just exceptionally hungry. "I honestly think they like him more than they like me."

"Oh, Tony," Pepper says, and Tony looks up. She looks sad. "I'm sure that's not true. How could they not love you the most?" Her voice cracks a little at that, but all three of them valiantly and immediately pretend it doesn't. There's an elephant in their friendship that they'll never talk about.

"Because I'm lying to them," Tony says. He looks her in the eye without flinching, and his mouth creases into a sad smile, because it is what it is. He wants to be Iron Man, so this is how it has to be.

Pepper opens her mouth like she's going to say something else, but then her gaze drifts right and she smiles instead. "Michael, good to see you again," she calls, and waves in his direction.

Tony follows her gaze and his smile returns, because Steve's standing behind Michael, in civilian clothing, and something indefinable contracts in Tony's chest, a pleased warmth that makes his smile widen automatically.

"Good afternoon, Tony, Happy, Pepper," Michael says, nodding at each of them. He jerks his head at Steve. "I brought my bodyguard in for some lunch, if you don't mind." He looks at Tony, mischief in his eyes. The idea of him saying _Captain America _is his bodyguard is kind of hilarious. Steve seems just as amused, to be fair.

"Who is your friend?" Pepper asks, realizing from Tony's smirk that Steve isn't a bodyguard.

"Oh, right, Pepper, Happy—this is Steve, he's a consultant," Tony introduces quickly. "Steve, this is Happy Hogan, my chauffeur, and Pepper Potts-Hogan, my secretary."

"I'm pleased to meet you," Steve says, leaning over and firmly shaking Pepper and Happy's hands, beaming like it's the first time he's ever met them, even though Tony's definitely introduced them both as Iron Man to Captain America before now.

"The pleasure is all ours," Pepper beams.

"You two should go get some food before the construction team get in and hoover up all the garlic bread," Tony advises, nodding at the serving area. "It's free, just show your passes to the servers."

"That's really kind of you, Tony," Steve says, smiling and letting Michael show him where to pick up a tray.

Tony watches them go, his smile still stuck on his face up until the moment he turns back to Pepper and Happy. They're staring at him with matching expressions.

"Wow," Happy says.

"I know," Pepper murmurs.

"What?" Tony demands, looking between them. "What's _wow_?"

"Never mind," Pepper says. She looks over her shoulder appraisingly. "_He's_ very nice."

"Michael?" Tony blinks. Pepper shakes her head. "Oh, Steve. Yeah. He's great."

"_Great,_" Pepper repeats to Happy. "Did you hear that?"

"You know, I think I did," Happy says.

"Oh man, this married people telepathy thing is never fun," Tony grouches, mutinously taking a mouthful of his rapidly cooling dinner.

"And he's just a consultant," Happy says.

"Hmm," Pepper hums. "So Tony can date him without falling foul of company guidelines."

"_What_?" Tony splutters and looks between the two of them, confused. "So Tony can date _who_ now?"

"You're dating someone?" Steve asks, walking up to them again, Michael alongside him, both of them already laden with full food trays. Steve's plate is heaped up high; Tony's servers apparently unable to resist that all-American attractive everything.

"Absolutely not," Tony says, shaking his head.

"Probably a good idea," Michael says, "considering it was one of your exes who locked us in that panic room."

"I liked her," Pepper says, mercifully abandoning her strange dating joke. "Sadly it sounds like she's too sensible to date someone like Tony."

"_Hey,_ is this _get at the boss_ day?" Tony grouches, but he's smiling again, which instantly ruins the effect.

"Technically you haven't re-hired us yet," Happy points out, and high-fives a beaming Pepper.

Michael sits directly next to Tony, which Tony is grateful for. "Have you had a good morning, boss?"

"I think I'm pleased it's over more than anything," Tony says, because that's a plausible explanation for the smile that seems stuck on his face. "I think if I actually printed out my to-do list I would deforest Brazil."

"Not that_ that_ would be as difficult as it should be right now," Pepper glowers darkly; it's one of her major bugbears. _Stark International_ isn't paper-free (because people like Midas can hack the media airwaves, but he can't hack paper), but she is the reason why the _Stark International Reforestation Project_ is still going strong.

"But the company is safe now, isn't it?" Steve asks.

"As safe as it can be considering," Tony says and runs his hands over his face, because he's not exactly in private, but he's surrounded by some of the people in the world he can feel _safe _with, and that's such a rare thing. "We've been recovering the pieces of the fake Iron Man armors from all the debris, and there's somewhat bad news about that. We know none of the Mechanoids escaped. We weighed the pieces on the big truck scales out back, and there's barely _half_ of the amount of alloys Midas stole."

"And they weren't on his weird shiny ship thing?" Happy asks, through a mouthful of food. Pepper elbows him and he winces apologetically.

"The _Phyrgia_?" Tony clarifies. "No. Agent Sitwell's people confiscated it and impounded it, and they got a warrant to search it last week. No more Mechanoids."

"Damn," Michael breathes. "So somewhere out there, Midas has more of those things."

"And he's not talking," Tony says. He sighs heavily, staring past his friends and out the window to the construction sites beyond.

Michael slaps him on the back companionably and beams at him. "You'll sort it out, boss."

Tony's smile is tighter, but at least it's still there. "Still, I think I was lucky," he says. "Honestly, if Midas had destroyed everything, I'm just—I'm so _tired. _I'm not even sure I'd have tried to rebuild." He sighs, runs a hand through his hair and tries not to yawn. When he looks up, all four of them are looking at him sympathetically. "But thanks to the Avengers, enough was saved. I'm grateful, I really am. We will get through this."

"We will," Pepper says, and reaches over to fleetingly touch his hand. He smiles softly at her. If his smile trembles a little, none of them call him on it, all of them keenly aware how rare it is for Tony to admit anything that vulnerable voluntarily.

Maybe the silence would have gotten too awkward after that, but Michael breaks in with the burrito story that Tony only heard half of at the mansion, and it's so funny that Steve laughs again even though he's already heard it. Then some of the administration department notice Pepper and end up stealing her and Happy to check out the updated computers that Tony got for them as an apology for making them hide in a bunker for eight hours. Michael somehow scores himself an invitation along with them, leaving Tony with a cheerful wink and a promise that he'll meet Tony in his workshop.

Tony ends up left at the table with Steve, and from the wink Pepper gives him as she leaves the cafeteria with a gaggle of old colleagues, Tony is left with the distinct feeling she's done this deliberately for some reason. Tony looks at Steve, awkwardly, unsure of how to start the conversation.

"Thanks for the food," Steve says politely, actually using a napkin to wipe his mouth instead of Tony's go-to—his sleeve. Tony glances at his sweatshirt sleeve as surreptitiously as he can; he's gotten too used to wearing his casual clothes while he helps fix up the place. Normally he only lets people see him in his armor—whether it's Iron Man or a suave business suit. Well, it's not like Steve hasn't already seen him at his worst.

"Hey, I owed you a meal," Tony says, even though technically this isn't homemade. But he did help rebuild the kitchens last week, so he thinks it sort of counts. "And I did give you a platinum pass, if you've come all this way out here you might as well make use of it." Tony winks at him. "I forgot to mention you can use it on the vending machines too. All the good snacks are in the engineering department."

Steve laughs. "You might start seeing more of me."

"I'm sorry for taking up so much of your time escorting Michael here. The Guardsman problem is taking longer than I hoped it would."

"None of us mind," Steve hurries to reassure him. "We like Michael."

_More than they like you,_ Tony's inner voice automatically adds. Tony tries to push that thought away. What does it matter if they do? Michael deserves it. "Good," Tony says, and smiles politely at him.

"I must admit," Steve says, "I am surprised you were able to lie about my identity so quickly to your friends."

Tony has to fight hard not to make the face he wants to, because it's not like he can tell Steve how much practice he's had in maintaining a secret identity.

"Guess I have a lot of practice pretending in meetings that I know what I'm doing," Tony says. It's not a lie, it's just… omitting his most relevant experience. "If it's something I can make with my own hands, I generally do know what I'm doing, but business… that's definitely a language I'm picking up on the fly."

"Really?" Steve blinks. "But you always seem so confident."

"It's all a lie," Tony says, and he means it flippantly, but the way Steve looks at him when he says it knocks him off-center. It's so much closer to the truth that he was aiming for, and Steve's warm empathy is suddenly way too much. "I'm sure I've kept you too long," he starts.

Steve's eyes soften, like he sees Tony's pathetic attempt to avoid facing his emotions and he's kindly not calling him out on it. "Actually, I was hoping to have a word with you while I'm here." He lowers his voice. "About that scheduling for your bodyguard's team training?"

Tony stills for a second and then nods. "Sure. I had it ready for you while you were here last, but..." He gestures at the window, to some of the destruction still visible beyond.

"I can come with you now if it's no bother," Steve says.

Tony hesitates a little, but he can't say no to Captain America. "Sure, it's in my workshop."

"Good," Steve says, and he smiles at Tony, no hint of artifice in his expression. He joins Tony in rising to his feet, and he picks up his tray, searching around for somewhere to put it. Tony winces guiltily—normally he leaves his on the table to be picked up by the cafeteria staff—and copies him, heading over to the trolleys at the back where they're supposed to go. "I like your workshop. It's really interesting."

Tony's had that sort of compliment before, but it's one of the few times he's ever really believed it. Most of the time, people mean _I like your workshop, all this stuff will make us rich_. But Steve says it like he means it. Tony's flattered, more than he probably should be. His workshop is his den, his home, the _heart_ of his creating. It means something to him that someone he respects so much likes it.

"Happy and Pepper seem nice," Steve says, following Tony out of the cafeteria. He moves confidently, even though he's only been to the _Stark International_ Long Island headquarters once, and half the buildings have been destroyed since that tour.

"Yeah," Tony says, and finds himself smiling automatically. "Yeah, Pepper really saved my behind when I took over the company. I didn't really know what I was doing. She found out something was about to lose the company and lost a lot of money, and she's the one who brought it to my attention. So I, uh, I sort of dumped the entire business on her for a while." He winces. "Whoops?"

"I think I understand the impulse," Steve says. "I have to do all this paperwork for SHIELD in order to keep the, uh—" He glances around shiftily, too many workers milling around because it's still lunchtime.

"Project," Tony supplies, helpfully.

"Ah, yeah, to keep the project… going smoothly," Steve says, finishing off the semi-lie awkwardly. "Because of all the moving we do between countries, on other people's properties, et cetera. And honestly, it's _so boring,_ I have to resist the urge to jump out of the window sometimes."

Tony's so surprised he has to move very swiftly and awkwardly not to walk straight into one of the water fountains placed periodically around the main building. The mental image of Steve leaping from the library window is amusing. Especially considering it's a first-floor room. "You seem like such a stickler for rules that not liking paperwork feels… incongruous."

Steve laughs. "I don't think it's too surprising. You can't punch paper."

Tony hums. "Don't say it too loudly. I feel like the supervillains of New York might take that as a challenge."

"The Supervillains of New York sounds like a band name."

"Do not encourage them," Tony says. "Have you heard the Controller try to sing? He's an abomination."

"I don't think I've yet had the pleasure. Well. Pleasure's probably the wrong term."

"Unless you get to punch him. I pretty much _guarantee_ that's a pleasure."

"You do end up getting a lot of attention from villains," Steve says, eyeing a boarded-up window with a sad expression. "I'm glad you have the support of people like Pepper, and Happy. He seemed like he had a good head on him during the attack."

"Yeah, he's pretty solid. He saved my life once."

"Yeah?" Steve perks up at that.

Tony nods. "Pulled me out a car crash and refused to take a monetary reward. Said a lump sum wouldn't help him. He offhandedly mentioned what he really needed was a job, so I gave him one. _Obviously_ driving is not my forte, so he became my chauffeur. _Then_ he ran off with Pepper, married her, and left me in the lurch." He squints for a second, thinking. "There may have been mortal peril in the mix somewhere." He side-glances more of the building damage and then grimaces ruefully at Steve. "I do get a _lot_ of attention from villains."

The PA desk for Tony's study and workshop when they pass it is empty. Personnel tried to send him a temporary worker, but Tony kept reassigning them in return. Pepper's going to be starting back tomorrow anyway; it was pointless trying to break someone new into the role. Tony opens up the workshop and hurries down the steps, knowing without looking that Steve's staying close behind him, because he feels the same way he always does when Captain America is at his back—safe.

The workshop is undamaged, but it's a mess, because Tony doesn't know how else to respond to chaos and destruction but with chaos of his own. He's been frantically jumping from need to need, immersing himself in them until they're complete before leaping to the next big priority. It could be worse, Tony thinks. There was a month once during the development of the Mark III armor where Tony forgot to bathe for two whole weeks. There was still an actual complaint on file in the maintenance department from the reception staff on for the mysterious unpleasant smell in the foyer after Tony passed through it. Whoops.

Tony heads to the desk which has all the paperwork on it and roots through the pile until he comes up with the schedule he'd printed out for Iron Man. He pauses to grab a pen to strike through the first two weeks, because they're past and gone, and on a second thought blocks out the next week too to be sure. Steve will put it down to Iron Man being needed to help with reconstruction.

Technically that's not even really a lie.

"So if you can take a quick look at these," Tony says, "get back to me with the ones where you definitely want Iron Man, then I can try and block them out definitely." He holds out the paper and Steve takes it gently, like Tony's giving him something fragile. "Obviously it's not set in stone, especially with how things are around here after Midas; sometimes I'll need him unexpectedly, but I'll do my best to make it work."

"I'm grateful for whatever time you can give us," Steve says.

Tony tries to smile, but yawns instead, and he covers his mouth quickly, looking at Steve awkwardly. "I'm sorry to be rude, I'm just—"

"Tired?" Steve guesses, when it's obvious Tony's failing to find the right word.

"Exhausted," Tony admits, sinking against the nearest table and rubbing at his eyes. "If it wasn't for the fact I knew the cafeteria only served mac-and-cheese on a Friday lunchtime, I probably wouldn't know what time or day it was."

"You should rest more," Steve says, firmly. "Midas wanted to destroy your company. You might be letting him win after all if you don't take more care of yourself."

"I could probably fit a nap in before doing more work," Tony agrees, and automatically looks over to this mattress in the corner contemplatively.

"I meant in a real bed," Steve says, glancing askance at the mattress. And then his eyes narrow, and he takes in the mess around it and _shit,_ Tony really should have insisted on coming to fetch the timetable, not just let Steve follow him around. He's _Captain America, _what was Tony thinking? He wasn't thinking, that's the explanation. Captain America is an amazing strategist. His _main strength_ isn't his superbly-enhanced physical strength, but the fact he can take in facts and immediately respond to what he can see in front of him.

Of _course_ Steve can see the detritus in Tony's lab and realize the truth. Well. Not that Tony is Iron Man. _That_ Tony works to hide. But the trash full of coffee cups, energy drinks and granola bar wrappers…. The pile of laundry Tony's just dropped in the corner because he's been too exhausted to catch up… The frankly kinda gross mattress where Tony's been crashing when he remembers sleep is a necessary thing…

It's an easy conclusion to come to, and Steve's definitely come to it, and he looks weirdly furious.

"Are you _sleeping_ here?" Steve demands.

"Well, it's easier, there's a lot to do here."

"And that meal you just had," Steve says, and looks at the trash calculatingly. "Tell me it wasn't your first hot meal in the last two weeks." Steve actually sounds a little murderous, actually.

"Uh," Tony says, and tries to think. He beams when he hits upon the answer. "There was stew on Sunday," he says, triumphantly.

"_Sunday,_" Steve repeats, like there's something wrong with that. "This isn't—this isn't what I meant to have happen, when I asked you to not to stay at the mansion, I thought you'd be staying in one of your other ten apartments around the city—"

"Nine," Tony corrects, waving a hand airily, "I sold the Upper East Side one when Madonna moved in next door, too noisy."

"I wanted you _safe,_ that's all, not—Not just slumming it on the floor. Safe, not in danger—"

Tony huffs. "Well, _that_ ship has sailed." He gestures at a monitor that's cycling through pictures of the damage.

Steve exhales, hard, his hands akimbo, his shoulders tense. He looks _miserable_.

"Hey, I'm perfectly fine," Tony says. "It's not the first time I've camped in my workshop."

"That's not even the point." Steve paces, changing direction twice before stopping and staring Tony down. "There's still that other issue I told you we'd talk about later."

Tony blinks at him confused. "Which is…?"

"Why didn't you tell me your heart had failed again?"

Tony starts, and stares at him, confused. "We're back to that?"

"We never should have _left_ that." Steve moves his hands, folding them over his broad chest.

Tony blinks and shrugs. "I don't know. I guess I just figured that since I put the money in trust, the Avengers would be safe whatever. So even if I did die, you could all carry on, so what was the point in worrying you?"

"You have no idea, do you?" Steve shakes his head.

"No idea about _what_?" Tony stares at him. He hates that this is happening. He had years of his father telling him Captain America would be disappointed in him. He hates that his father was right. "I'm not a good person, Captain. Believe me, this is better than I deserve."

Steve flinches at the _Captain_. "You honestly believe that, don't you?" Steve stares at him. "Why won't you believe you're a good person, Tony?"

Tony finds himself smiling, but it's the kind of sour one he wore a lot during his teen years, when Howard would insult him, and Tony would snark back until his words were bloody and sharp. "I'm an excellent person," Tony says, monotone, holding Steve's gaze. "Extraordinary. Top of the class. Couldn't be any smarter or more handsome. What's not to like?"

Sadly, Steve's not an aging businessman addled by alcohol, and he can hear the sharpness of Tony's sarcasm for what it is. He steps forward, his arms falling uselessly to his sides, and his eyes scan Tony's face like he's an impossible equation.

When Steve speaks, his voice is soft. "Then why do you hate yourself so much?" Tony flinches at it, and wants to turn away, but Steve steps in a little closer, and his eyes are impossible to look away from. "I'd think you were punishing yourself for Kevin's death for some bizarre reason, except you've always been like this. Why?"

Tony stares helplessly. Normally he can predict conversations and know what to expect, but this whole interaction has him on edge. Steve's somehow been able to see right through every single one of his usual defenses, and without any armor left, Tony's feeling so vulnerable he wants to scream.

"Who says that I'm punishing myself?" Tony says, although he doesn't. He _tries_ to say that, to sink into the denial, but he gets as far as "Who says that—" before he sags, helplessly. He sighs. Runs both hands over his face and shrugs before looking up at Steve. He lets the full force of what he's feeling live on his face and in his words, because Steve's stripped away everything else. "You've read my record, Cap."

Steve twitches at the use of _Cap,_ obviously wanting to protest that he's not in uniform, so he's himself, but even he realizes this isn't a normal _Tony and Steve_ kind of conversation.

It's a fight, even if only one of them knows they're both Avengers.

"I am the bad guy all the papers say," Tony says, because Tony _is_ an Avenger, and this is a fight, although Tony's desperately scrabbling towards something he can't name. Survival of some sort. "I never used to care who I was hurting. All I cared about was building and inventing as fast as I could, making weapon after weapon. I didn't care how they were being used. I trusted the government knew how. I didn't keep a close enough eye on what happened to them after they were sold. And then—"

"Then?" Steve prompts. His expression is indefinable, inscrutable.

"The landmine. Changed everything. And a good man died to save my life. When your eyes are opened at the cost of someone else's life, it's impossible to remain blind." Tony shrugs and walks away from Steve, trying to casually glance around his workshop, when really he's just reading his own memories and coming up short, every single time. "From then on all I could see was the damage I'd done. The pain I've caused. The blood that's been shed with a weapon with my name on the side. I dedicated myself to change. Iron Man. Green energy. Plastics. Nanotransistors. Cybernetics. Non-lethal methods of defense. I know I still make weapons, but I'm much more careful where they go. I think about the consequences now when I never cared."

"But that's amazing," Steve says, in a much gentler voice. "People are allowed to change. We all change and grow. That's what life is. We learn to grow and improve."

Tony snorts bitterly. "Most people don't have as far to climb as I do." He looks at Steve sharply. "Old sins cast long shadows, Captain. I'll never be clear. There will always be blood on my hands. I could work every second until I die to make up for it, it won't ever be enough. And I keep messing up. Like the Guardsman. Like Kevin."

"That wasn't your fault," Steve insists.

"You've read what the press has said about me," Tony says. "It's all true."

Steve snorts. "That's bullshit, Tony."

"You've been around Michael too much. His brother was a pottymouth too."

"You're a good person, Tony," Steve says, in a level tone, trying to hold Tony's eye contact like Tony's a skittish animal.

It's a nice attempt, really it is; it's a really valiant attempt to calm Tony down, but it's so misguided that Tony's chest hurts. He shakes his head. "Your problem is you see the world through rose-tinted glasses, Captain. You see the world how you'd _like_ it to look, not how it actually is. I'm a liar. I take action without thinking of the consequences. I ruin people in my wake. My goals aren't noble and good."

"Maybe that might have been true about your goals once upon a time," Steve says. His voice is quiet like he's scared of breaking something if he talks too loudly, but his words echo in the round room regardless. "_Maybe._ I could possibly be persuaded that many of your goals weren't altruistic in the past. But that's not who you are now."

Tony's chest feels tight, and he wants to check how full his charge is. He glares at Steve, frustrated. This whole exchange _hurts_. He just wants him gone. He wants Steve to stop looking at him with pity, like he's someone that deserves Captain America's pity. Tony's not. He doesn't. And the faster Steve realizes that, the better.

"I'm not a good person, Captain Rogers," Tony spits out. He needs to push Steve where it hurts. Tony's good at that. "You need to stop deluding yourself that I am. I throw money at things when I want to appear decent, but it's just money. That's what people worship when they speak well of me. If I do something bad, I can sweep it under the rug with a million dollars that I won't even notice gone."

The pity on Steve's face has disappeared in favor of a stonier expression. "You are a liar," Steve says, and Tony's glad, because fucking _finally,_ he gets it. Except Steve's jaw tightens mulishly and he says, "Because you _are_ a good person."

Tony screams inwardly. His nostrils flare despite his desperate grasp to remain like he's in control. He's _furious_. "We'll have to agree to disagree. Get out. I'm busy."

"Tony—" Steve starts.

"Do I have to call security?" Tony asks, archly.

Steve glares at him, tension flaring through his entire body, and then he just sags, and he looks sad. Infinitely sad. Like Tony's managed to actually somehow hurt him.

_Good, _Tony thinks, viciously. _He needs to know I'm not kidding about being a terrible person_. But then even those internal words are followed with a wash of shame for hurting Steve, for deliberately setting out to say something hurtful to the best person Tony's ever met in his life, for repeatedly calling him a liar.

But it's better that Steve knows. It's better he knows not to waste his time with Tony.

Tony's not worth it.

"You don't," Steve says, gently. "I'm going." He heads over to the stairs and pauses at the bottom, looking back at Tony with a soft expression that makes Tony's eyes sting. "I wish I could shut up the voice in your head that tells you that you're not worth anything, Tony. Because it's lying to you. You're incredible. If I have to be the person believing that for you, I will be." He turns to head up the stairs. "Thanks for the schedule, Mr. Stark."

Tony stares at Steve's retreating footsteps, only barely remembering at the last second to lean over and activate the doors to let Steve out of there. He doesn't know how long he stands there, wordlessly staring, but even if it feels like an eternity, it can't be too long—the light above the door flashes green, meaning someone's entered the right code to come in, and that must be Michael.

Michael appears looking happy, unaware that he's just walked into a room that a minute ago had felt like it was full of toxic gas. He bounds over towards Tony, beaming to himself. "Hey, did I just miss Captain America? I thought I saw him go past, but he didn't say hi."

Tony looks at him sharply, and maybe some of his sour mood is showing on his face, because Michael bodily recoils.

"Woah, okay, say no more," Michael says, holding his hands up wide. "We gonna give the cement mixer another spin cycle, huh?" He gestures at the brain-scanner and starts to move over to it.

"Uh," Tony says, and shakes himself to try and get out of his funk. His head hurts a little. Dammit.

"Hey," Michael says, and his voice is somewhat soft too, like Tony's visibly fragile. His eyebrows furrow. "You okay?"

Tony looks away and sighs. Apparently that's answer enough.

Michael shuffles and rests against the table opposite to where Tony's still standing. "Maybe you should think about telling him that you're Iron Man?"

"Or not," Tony says. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. The idea of having another hour of data from a brain scan usually seems like a good one, but he's just so tired that the idea of having more data that he can't interpret just seems like too much right now. He presses his mouth into a line. Exhausted doesn't really cover it. He looks over at the Guardsman armor contemplatively. "Maybe I should just give up. You're a really good guy, Michael. The Avengers love you. You'd be a much better Iron Man than me."

When he glances up to see how much Michael likes the idea, he's disappointed, because Michael looks almost angry. It's par for the course. Tony's brain is too tired to figure out what he's done wrong this time, but he deserves the anger, so he doesn't immediately protest.

"I thought you were supposed to be clever," Michael says.

"I am," Tony says, immediately, and then squints. "When I'm functioning on decent sleep." He squints across at his mattress. Now he's looking at it with fresh eyes, like Steve might have looked at it, it does look disgusting. The sheet isn't even on properly, and there's a coffee stain on the sheets that Tony at least has the benefit of knowing for sure is coffee.

"I've told you before. I want to be the Guardsman," Michael says. "I want to be the Guardsman my brother _could_ have been, if he wasn't such an impatient, jealous jackass."

Tony's head lurches up at the sound of an insult against Kevin, because _what_? Kevin was great. Kevin was perfect. "Kevin wasn't—" Tony starts.

Michael laughs once, bitter and sharp. "Tony, man, I think the world of you, but yeah, you're kind of dumb for a genius. Death does that, though, I think? Makes us forget the rough edges of a person. But Kevin's dumbassery was such a good part of his _charm._ My brother, man, you have no idea about the _bullshit_ he tried to pull half the damn time. Like, I thought at one point that his ramblings about you stealing his girl were true."

"I didn't steal his girl at all," Tony says, instantly, because he needs Michael to know that for sure.

"Yeah, I thought he was talking about Kathy," Michael says, rolling his eyes. "You know… Kevin's wife? Kathy?"

Tony blinks rapidly. "He… he was married?" His stomach drops. Oh god. Oh _god._ "But she wasn't at the funeral, it—But then you weren't either, but—" He can't breathe. Kevin was _married_. He widowed someone?

"Relax, they were separated," Michael says, waving his arms airily. "He got the promotion, she refused to leave Lakani, they were probably going to divorce. But the whole _Marianne was mine_ thing, absolute delusion."

"I—" Tony starts. He sighs. "But that doesn't matter." He glares at Michael. "I killed your brother."

"It was an accident," Michael says. "Terrible and horrible and I miss him like I lost a limb. But I'm not going to make him out to be an angel. Kevin O'Brien was a hot fucking mess. But that's half of why I loved him so much. And I reckon it's probably the same for you." He straightens and steps forward to look Tony in the eye. "People don't have to be perfect for us to love them."

Tony stares at him. His throat feels thick. His eyes hurt. He thinks about the way Steve looked at him. The way Pepper and Happy smiled at him at lunch.

"Let's get you into the cement mixer," Tony says, and if his voice is cracked and wrecked, Michael doesn't call him on it, just nods and goes to sit in the seat.

Tony's really not perfect. But Michael's right. Kevin wasn't perfect either, and Tony still loved him. God, Tony loved him so much. His vision is blurry as he straps Michael into the brain scanner.

"Kevin was kind of nuts about you too," Michael says, as Tony reaches up to pull the head part of the device down. "I'm so glad he had a friend like you."

Tony holds it together, but only just. "C'mon, let's get this sorted out so you can voluntarily climb into thin armor and blast bad guys in the face. You O'Brien boys, absolutely mad."

"You know it, baby," Michael croons, and grins at him until Tony lowers the device down and the grin is hidden away.

Tony steps back and sets the machine off, lost in his own thoughts for a long minute.

He probably owes Steve an apology. But for all the fact that he's a genius, he can't quite come up with the words.

Tony sighs. Maybe one of the arms will break in the combat room and he can make another one as an apology. Or he can learn to be an adult and actually do it in words, but… Well. He feels like he's reluctantly learned one big lesson today. Maybe he should take things one step at a time. Which is the only way he's going to solve this Guardsman problem, too. Even if his past keeps turning up to drag him backward, Tony can go in the opposite direction.

Besides, it's like Kevin told Tony once. Sometimes real bravery isn't going into battle, it's just taking the first step. Tony takes a deep breath, walks over to his main monitor, and opens the data he's compiled so far.

Time to get back to work.


	8. Chapter 8

This is no book,

Who touches this, touches a man,

(Is it night? Are we here alone?)

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

It's one of Tony's favorite games, to slide into the combat simulation room slightly late and see how long it takes the Avengers to notice that Iron Man's there. If he maybe oils the hinges of the main door when no one notices to make it easier to get in, Tony's not admitting it to anyone. It's not like Iron Man has subtle coloring.

They don't notice him sidling into the room, or edging around the wall until he's sat at the control console. It's nice getting a moment to take in the place, see what they're up to, check out how the repairs look. If Tony didn't know where to look, he'd think the place hadn't been attacked at all, but he can see the slight cracks in the ceiling which haven't yet been covered up properly. Tony makes a brief mental note to fix that, maybe add some extra noise-reduction.

He regards the action going on fondly. The ceiling arms have been restored, having only gotten slightly knocked loose in the attack four weeks ago, and Jan, Simon, and Clint are running through one of the Gamma programs with it—a defensive training program. Hank is doing one-handed push-ups in one corner, his tablet clutched in his spare hand. Michael is in his exoskeleton rig, dodging Steve's shield. Tony rests his head on his hands and watches them fondly.

Then Tony yawns, unable to catch it in time, the modulator turning it into a noise that could make a decent rave track, if Tony had the time to pull it out of his audio archives and mix it. Things have been so busy this week he hasn't yet had enough time to leave his workshop to sleep, although he has conceded to Steve's obvious distress and had an actual bed-frame delivered so he's not curling up on the floor any longer.

Unfortunately, the sound draws attention, at least from over on the main mats. Steve catches his shield and slips down his cowl, bounding over to Tony happily.

"Iron Man, you're a sight for sore eyes," Steve says, beaming brightly.

"Afternoon, winghead," Tony greets, getting to his feet. He moves around the console, nodding over at Michael. "Detective O'Brien's getting good at that."

"He still keeps leaning his weight backward too far," Steve says, and Michael promptly falls over.

"I'd say he could hear you, except if he had, he wouldn't have fallen," Tony says.

"Once he gets the armor he'll have to retrain to deal with the added weight," Steve says, walking back over to the mats. Tony joins him, automatically matching his pace.

Their relationship as Captain America and Iron Man has always been this easy. Then again, there's rarely any tension between them, bar the occasional time when Iron Man misses a call to assemble and Cap gets a bit peeved.

"It won't take him that long," Tony says. "That rig is a lot harder than the armor, believe me."

"You've trained with the exoskeleton too?"

"I was the first one to try it."

"I should have guessed that," Steve says.

"Once the armor's ready, well, you won't even need me," Tony surmises, watching Michael—now dodging some training spheres that Hank is sending his way—managing to dodge them, barely getting hit at all.

"I'll always need you, Iron Man," Steve says, and when Tony glances at him to thank him for being nice, Steve blinks rapidly. "I mean, want. Uh. You know what I mean." Steve looks away, squinting as he watches Jan, Simon, and Clint evade the flailing training arm.

"I'm not sure I do," Tony says.

"You're the heart of the Avengers," Steve clarifies. "We're not half as good without you." Steve looks at him then with an earnest expression.

Tony snorts. "I think that's you, Cap. I'm not the heart of anything. The Tin Man _needs_ a heart, that's how that story goes."

"We'll agree to disagree, then," Steve says, amiably. Then he winces. "I kind of owe your boss an apology. How has he seemed to you, recently?"

Tony blinks rapidly. "Uh… Work obsessed as usual. A bit tense, but his company was half-wrecked, so I think that's understandable."

"I was so hard on him the other day," Steve sighs, and leans against the wall, his eyes scanning across the room as he watches the Avengers train. "He just… Tony gets so _down_ on himself, and I just want to shake him, and I never seem to say the right thing with him. I don't know how to make him believe me. I guess I must have let him down." His mouth tightens. "Probably by kicking him out of his own house, but God, I've just been so _scared_, this place seems less safe every single day."

"For what it's worth," Tony says slowly, "he already had Captain America issues before you turned up."

Steve looks at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

Tony shrugs and can't look Steve in the eyes. "His dad compared him to you every day when he was growing up. Let's just say Howard Stark decided his son was always wanting when compared to that level of perfection."

"That's awful," Steve breathes. "No one can live up to an _ideal_." Tony's nodding even before Steve can continue, because _ideal_ describes Steve Rogers pretty damn well. But then Steve continues, clenching a fist angrily. "I've read the comics and propaganda they put out about me after I died, maybe ten percent of it even happened. That's ridiculous. That's what happens when someone dies—or they think they're dead, in my case—they rub out all the flaws, clean a person up, put them on a pedestal. The real me is nowhere near perfect."

It's so close to what Michael was trying to tell him that Tony understands what Steve's trying to say, even if it's awkwardly phrased. "You don't have to be perfect to still be awesome," Tony says.

"Thanks," Steve says, quirking a grin at Tony.

"Hey, I was talking about myself," Tony quips. At Steve's dismay, he laughs. "I'm joking, I meant you. You're great. And I know Mr. Stark thinks a lot of you. He really respects your opinion. Even if… he doesn't always express it." Does it count as being mature and apologizing to someone's face if you do it through a mask? Eh, Tony thinks. Baby steps.

Steve huffs. "If Tony really _does_ respect my opinions, then he should figure out I'm not friends with people who aren't worth my regard."

Tony looks at him sharply, glad the mask's there to hide his surprised expression. "You and he are friends?"

"I thought so," Steve says, then looks unsure. "Why, has he said something otherwise to you?"

"Oh, no, of course not."

"Good," Steve says, relaxing again. "We're friends. I think. I sort of got angry at him, but… I just want to shake him sometimes. Public ego the size of the planet but somehow privately has the self-esteem of a fly. You want to shake him too sometimes, yeah? For his own good?"

"Well, I guess I don't care that much about him," Tony shrugs. "I mean, we know a lot about each other, obviously, but I wouldn't say we were friends."

Steve turns and stares openly at him. "Really? I don't—How? How is that even possible? You're great, he's great. You should be friends."

Tony stares back, relieved he has the mask so he can't be called out for being so blatant about it. Steve looks almost _resplendently_ indignant. "I'll take your opinion under consideration, Captain," Tony promises. It's impossible, of course, but still, Tony finds himself somehow completely charmed by Steve's indignation. He honestly likes Tony enough that the idea of someone not being his friend is baffling to him? It's such a weird idea to process that he has to push it to the back of his mind to think about later, or he won't be able to concentrate during whatever training exercises Steve has planned.

It turns out to be a rigorous training exercise including the arms and the training spheres, and an obviously planned moment where Michael—ostensibly just there to operate the console—lunges out with "a hostage". The hostage is just a training mat rolled up with googly eyes stuck on it, which, really, Tony needs to find out who made that, it's _ridiculous_. They could have just asked Tony to make them a fake hostage for training.

"Matt, no, I shall rescue you!" Jan croons to the rolled-up mat, and when she wins the training exercise by managing to wrestle it from Michael, proceeds to slow dance with it at the end of the training session while the rest of the Avengers sink to the ground, exhausted. Tony lies on his back, even more exhausted, but at least this time it's in a good way, his body rather than his mind.

Simon starts flirting with "Matt", causing Jan to shriek in displeasure.

"You're _married,_" Simon howls. "Leave some for the rest of us."

"He's mine now," Jan says. "Hank can learn to share."

"I don't want any of that sweaty thing," the only Hank there mutters.

"You know who I meant," Jan sighs. "And don't call my new lover sweaty."

"Matt smells pretty rank," Clint offers. "We probably should have made him with one of the new ones."

"I like this one, he has character," Jan says.

"Kinda seems like I shouldn't leave you guys alone for so long again if I can help it," Tony says, cackling as the banter continues.

"You really shouldn't," Steve says, sitting down near Tony's head, crossing his legs and watching with soft amusement as Jan and Clint start to bicker about who Matt likes the most.

"Really, who did make that abomination?" Tony asks.

"Clint and Simon," Steve says. "You should look in the fridge. They added googly eyes to everything. Honestly, you're more of a stabilizing influence than you think."

"Eh, precisely why I was needed at _Stark International_," Tony says, because otherwise he'll start laughing about being described as a stabilizing influence. He makes a mental note to tell Pepper.

"It must be hard, feeling needed by two different things," Steve says.

Tony sits up, stretching his back as he moves. It makes a sad popping noise, probably in protest for how long Tony was happy for it to suffer on a mattress on the floor for so long. "I like being needed," he admits. "I wish I had more time to do everything."

"Yeah," Steve says. "Time can be a real bitch."

"You've spent too much time with O'Brien," Tony says.

Steve barks a laugh. "Your boss said that too."

Tony winces. Whoops. He sometimes forgets to be careful around Steve, especially when he's tired. Maybe he should install a modulation filter. That's a good idea. Some sort of AI to filter out words or phrases that are likely to cause him trouble. Well, that's yet another idea on the pile.

"I, uh, I really do owe your boss an apology, though," Steve says, putting a hand on the back of his neck and avoiding looking at Iron Man directly. "I was thinking about cooking for him, actually. I don't think he's eating right, and I've cooked for him before."

"You have?" Tony says, because maybe it's something Iron Man shouldn't know.

"Nothing much," Steve says. "Oh, it's probably a stupid idea."

"No," Tony says, quickly, scared he's put Steve off the idea. "I'm sure it's a good one. I think he tries to live off energy drinks and granola bars if no one's looking."

Steve nods quietly. "Okay."

"Next week," Tony says. "I think my boss might have an evening free on Thursday." He doesn't, but, he can make it happen. Probably. When Steve looks at him, hopefully, Tony amends that to_ definitely_.

"Good," Steve says. "Thanks. I'll send him an invitation."

"I can ask him for you," Tony says.

"I'm a grown-up, I can ask a friend to lunch," Steve laughs, shaking his head.

Tony's in awe. Steve makes being an adult look so _easy_. Tony opens his mouth to ask whether maybe Steve wants to spar for a bit, because he can probably handle ten minutes of getting his butt handed to him on a plate, when the intercom alarm sounds. Michael hits something on the console and he looks over to Tony.

"Front door alarm. It looks like that SHIELD consultant," Michael says. "Looks like he's got a massive crate with him. Do you think he's found the lost Iron Man armors?"

Tony and Steve exchange a glance; they both easily flip to their feet and run for the door. Steve beats him there, but Tony is running on less battery, so he doesn't get as annoyed as he usually does when Captain America wins one of their races.

Steve slips his mask back on in case a random passer-by sees him, and opens the door.

"Captain America! And _Iron Man,_ how delightful. Mrs. Potts-Hogan said I might find you here." Sitwell beams from ear to ear. "Can I come in? And two of my friends, but just for a moment, of course."

"Just for a moment," Steve says, and steps back, letting them into the lobby.

The two agents with Sitwell look worshipfully in Steve's direction as they carry the crate in. It seems SHIELD, like _Stark International,_ hires a lot of Captain America fans.

"Don't leave," Tony commands them, as they look ready to scurry away. "The armors?" he asks, gesturing at the crate.

"Yes," Sitwell says. "We believe it was Madame Masque who sent us an anonymous tip-off as to where to find them."

Tony doesn't look at Sitwell. Does he even know that Madame Masque and Whitney Frost are the same person yet? The question dries up in his throat. Some things are better off not known, he thinks. Especially when it comes to having a secret identity.

"And she's still evading your custody?" Tony says, starting to open the box. One of the agents offers him a crowbar, but Tony shakes his head—there's a lot of handy gadgets tidied away in the Iron Man armor, including some convenient diamond-tipped drills. He quickly unscrews the crate as Sitwell continues to report.

"We can't be sure how involved she's been in Midas' shenanigans," Sitwell says. "Midas tried to confess her full involvement, but there were so many inconsistencies. We can't tell whether he was just trying to push blame onto her because she's a convenient absent party."

"Keep us updated," Steve says. He leans in as Tony removes the lid. "Is that all the missing armor accounted for?"

Tony quickly looks through it all and is glad no one can see him beaming like a child, because honestly, the feeling is similar to what he expected regular people got to feel on their birthdays. He's almost weepy with the nostalgia when he sees the big shiny dome of the Mark I nestled in the bottom of the crate. He hadn't realized how hollow he'd felt without these reminders of how far he's come in his possession. "I can't be sure until I check it against Mr. Stark's full inventory, but it looks like it." He straightens, and is glad no one can see he's still teary-eyed. "Unfortunately, I don't have the technology here to check if there's been anything embedded. Mr. Stark will need to scan them all thoroughly."

Tony actually jams his modulator and speakers off for a second so he can sigh as loudly as he wants, because dammit, that's going to be a _lot_ of work. But he's so pleased to have his armors back, and this time, he's going to make sure no one can get at them. Not even an ex-sort-of-girlfriend or an old tutor.

"Which facility would take them best at the moment, do you think?" Sitwell asks. "Of course I'll take them there personally."

Tony nods and directs him to the New Jersey facility, because there's a locker there that can definitely hold them until he can get to them, one that will self-destruct if the wrong person tries to get in. He'd rather his armors obliterated rather than them falling into the wrong hands. It's the first time Tony's ever really been able to empathize with Midas' mentality of _if I can't have them no one can_. Although to be fair, Midas thinks that about other people's wealth and possessions, not his own.

As he closes the door behind Sitwell, Tony yawns again and forgets to mute this one; when he turns to look at Steve, he's frowning.

"You should get some rest," Steve says.

"Chance would be a fine thing," Tony says. "Come on, I've got time for one more sparring match before I should be getting back to work." He turns to head downstairs and walks straight into Steve. Walking into a stockstill Captain America is no joke. It actually hurts. Tony recoils. "Hey, you make a terrible wall."

"I'm a blockade," Steve says, "not a wall. _You_ are going home, wherever home is, and you're going to _sleep_. And that's an order. If Mr. Stark wants to disagree, he can come directly to me."

"I thought you and he were arguing. I mean, if you want to cook him an apology dinner."

"And we'll have more to argue about, if he overworks you," Steve says, grimly. "He overworks himself enough. He shouldn't be taking anyone else down with him."

"Ugh," Tony says. "Fine. But I'm doing this under protest."

"Whatever it takes," Steve says, folding his arms over his chest firmly. "I'll tell the others where you are."

"That I had to be _sent to bed by Captain America like a child_?" Tony demands, appalled.

Steve smirks. "I can phrase it better than that. Unless you want to argue, and I'll use those exact words?"

Tony sighs, audibly enough for the modulator to expel it in a grumble of noise. "Fine. Good night, Cap. I'll see you at the next alert or the next training schedule, whatever comes first."

"Good _night_, Iron Man," Steve says firmly, even though it's only mid-way through the afternoon, what the fuck.

Tony leaves through the front door because it's closest, and takes off quickly into the air, grumpily muttering under his breath as he goes. Being sent to bed never sat well with him as a kid. Lights out at boarding school was always a chore, until Tony rigged up a blanket system that masked his light so he could keep reading well into the small hours. The hours he spent with King Arthur and his knights saved his childhood. Kept him sane.

And now he _is_ an armored knight, and if the table in the main assembly room is round, well… That's just for efficiency. Tony used to want to be one of the knights so badly. Lancelot's life was so tragic and glamorous… But he always suspected he'd be Merlin out of any of the characters, ready to provide all the magical (well, technological) support. As Iron Man, he gets to be _both_. It's weird to think about.

For a second he thinks about actually going to his penthouse apartment. Curling up in the cold bed there, making a brief call to Pepper to cancel the appointments she can, rearrange those she can't, and invent the answers as best as she can to everything left over. But the guilt crawls up his throat and he keeps his course centered onto _Stark International_. He'll have a little nap to assuage Captain America, and that will be that.

It turns out to be the right decision. Not long after Iron Man's touched down at work and said hello to a bemused Pepper as he headed directly into his workshop, the alarm for an internal call from the Avengers mansion starts flashing. Tony collapses his suit with a practiced wrist gesture and then grimaces, because yep, he's mostly naked and the call is flashing more urgently. He grabs for his usual disguise option during one of those calls and throws a lab coat on, even though he rarely ever does anything that actually needs a lab coat.

Tony flings it on, throws himself into a seat, and connects the call. It's Steve, still wearing his mask. Tony plasters on a professional smile. "How can I help you, Captain?"

"Sorry for bothering you," Steve says.

"You're never a bother," Tony assures him. "Even, uh, even if—Uh—" Crap. There goes any attempt at being suave.

"Yeah, about that," Steve says. It might be the bad lighting in the workshop—Tony didn't even have time to turn it back on when he came down—but Steve's cheeks look weirdly pink. He probably walked in on something odd going on in the combat simulation room, Tony thinks grimly. Probably something unsavory happening to poor "Matt", the Avengers' new favorite training rescue buddy. "I was wondering if you would let me borrow you for a few hours next Thursday. I'd like—I'd like to apologize, properly. The way my mom taught me."

Tony blinks. Steve's looking straight at him through the monitor, and even though his words are hesitant, his gaze is straight on. He's always brave. "I'd like that," Tony says. "Goodness knows I'd like the chance to apologize too." He pauses. "Unless your mom taught you to apologize by stabbing someone through the rib cage, in which case, I'd like to ask for a rain check."

Steve laughs, startled. "No, Tony, no, I just—I feel like I put you in a tight situation the other day, and I didn't handle it as well as I would have liked, and I'd really like to make you some dinner to make up for it. If you're okay with that."

Tony pauses, because for a second, it sounds like a date. He's pretty sleep deprived, though, so he just shrugs and takes it at the face value that it's meant. "I would like that," he says, honestly. "I can get Iron Man to drop me off, if you'd like? I don't mind a bit of flying every now and again."

"Yeah, that would be great," Steve says. "The roof of my apartment?" That surprises Tony, until he remembers Steve doesn't really want to see him at the mansion. "Then you don't have to deal with the door security. I'll leave the roof door open. I'll drop you the address via Michael, if that's okay. Uh, what time would be best for you?"

"Let me check my schedule," Tony lies, because he doesn't want to admit he knew the invitation was coming. He pretends to check his phone. "Is six too early for you?"

"Six is great," Steve says. "Excellent. I'll see you then, Mr. Stark."

"Do I need to bring anything?" Tony asks, because he can be a good guest.

"Uh, just yourself," Steve says, and smiles awkwardly, and then disconnects the call.

Huh. Tony settles back in his seat for a few seconds, except then he nearly falls asleep, and that's not good, so he startles to his feet and starts casting around for clothes. He has to go get Pepper to reschedule some meetings, and for some reason, she gets fidgety if he tries to arrange things with her when all he's wearing is the chestplate and his underwear.

Tony should procure more respectable underpants but it'll probably never happen.

* * *

Tony is careful when he makes the long flight to Steve's apartment, because there's every chance that Steve will be up on the roof waiting for him. Tony has his long-distance scanners active as he gets closer to the right building; if Steve is there, Tony will deviate to another building, get dressed there, and get the armor to carry him for a short distance, using a remote control device Tony has ready implanted in his wrist control bracelets. It's not a very sensitive device yet, and might be an awkward ride, but Tony's got some pre-programmed phrases for Iron Man to say, just in case.

It turns out to be unnecessary. Steve's roof is abandoned, and there's no easy sightlines to it, so it's safe to land directly on it. He collapses the suit, and quickly whips on his clothes, shaking them out of one of the small unstable-molecule strips that Reed Richards made for him. He really needs to find some time to work on a system where he doesn't end up so naked. Alas, time is in short supply.

Tony finishes knotting his tie with a few seconds to spare, and he suppresses a yawn as the door opens and Steve stands there, looking a little perplexed.

"I thought Iron Man would be here," Steve says, and blinks, and Tony's face falls, because did he misinterpret the invitation? "I thought given all the attacks recently that he'd at least escort you until I got up here."

"Oh," Tony says. "I sent him away, I'm sorry. It's my fault. I mean… this roof seems secure."

"Well," Steve says, "secure is _relative_ at the moment." He smiles at Tony. "Sorry for the harsh welcome. Hi. Welcome. Thanks for coming."

Tony laughs. "Thanks for having me," he says, graciously, and moves towards the doorway when Steve steps back inside, gesturing at Tony to follow him inside. "You have a nice building," Tony adds, to be polite.

Steve's mouth wrinkles. "It's nothing as fancy as you're used to, I'm sure."

"You saw where I've been sleeping," Tony says. "I cannot in good conscience judge anyone on their living arrangements."

"Hm," Steve says, looking briefly murderous, so okay, maybe Tony shouldn't remind him of his workshop mattress.

"Iron Man's going out to my Lakani branch tonight to get some blueprints we need to rebuild part of the plastics development," Tony lies as he follows Steve down the multiple flights of stairs. "So if a call to assemble comes out, I'm sorry, he might be too far away to hear it."

Lying is regretful, but it's better than having to awkwardly duck out of the dinner with no good explanation. Besides, Tony's had to do a couple of all-nighters to afford the time to come here tonight. It had seemed important to Steve, so Tony hadn't wanted to disappoint him, but as a result, he's even more exhausted than he was anticipating. It wouldn't be good for anyone if Iron Man tried fighting tonight.

"Thanks for letting me know," Steve says. "I hope it calms down for you and for him soon. I miss seeing him around."

"I intended for you to have him much more often," Tony says. "I'm sorry. If it helps, the Iron Man armor's helping me make some major progress on the Guardsman armor."

"I'm glad to hear that," Steve says, beaming at him as he pushes through a set of doors to an inner landing. "It's this way."

"You didn't have to do this," Tony says, as Steve shows him to the end of the hallway, and opens up the door for him. "I was in a foul mood that day. You didn't do anything but try to be nice."

"I kept going when you clearly weren't ready to talk. I was stubborn and wanted to be right, when all you needed was space," Steve says. He shrugs. "And I want to do something nice for you to make up for that. And I'm grateful you've let me." Steve turns and looks at him and shrugs, awkwardly. "Most people just want me to turn up in my uniform, or punch things. Or both. It's nice to be needed in a different way."

It's really difficult to think of anything when Steve is looking at him so earnestly. Tony swallows and nods as Steve pushes the door closed behind them. Steve toes off his shoes and Tony copies quickly, feeling guilty for not thinking of it first. "Well, it's very nice of you," Tony says. He glances around. "This is kind of nice."

Steve laughs. "I appreciate the qualifier," he laughs. "I know it's not much, but it's… space, you know? Somewhere to go when the modern world is just a little too much."

"The future is a foreign country," Tony misquotes deliberately.

Steve laughs and gives him the brief tour. It's large as far as apartments go in this part of the city, but it's small compared to what Tony's used to, which makes it seem cozy to him.

"You know really I should be cooking you dinner," Tony says, as Steve shows him to his seat; Steve's dining table is small, with only two wooden chairs around, but that's not surprising—Steve has a very _have only what you need_ mentality.

"No, it's my turn, you fed me mac-and-cheese the other day," Steve says. "Watch your fingers, the plate's hot."

Tony looks down in surprise at the plate in front of him. It's one of his favorites, spaghetti bolognaise. When he looks up, Steve is settling opposite him with an identical plate, even though Tony's sure Steve's super-metabolism probably means he needs to eat more.

"I only have water to drink, sorry," Steve apologizes, pouring Tony a glass as Tony shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on his chair back. "I hope you don't mind."

"I need all the clarity of thought I can handle at the moment," Tony says. "Water is perfect."

"Good," Steve says. "I don't exactly host a lot of dinner parties, I only remembered you were supposed to provide drinks for guests about three minutes before Iron Man dropped you off."

"I'm already impressed enough, I don't need any fancy trimmings," Tony reassures. "I'm sorry he didn't stick around. I didn't think that you'd want to speak to him about anything in particular."

"Nothing that couldn't wait until his next training session."

"I sorry I haven't been able to release Iron Man more for you."

"Well, I like Iron Man, so I can't say I'm never disappointed not to have to him around, but I'm not surprised. _Stark International_ took a lot of damage. I can't imagine how much work that's taking to clear up."

"That and he's helping with the Guardsman project," Tony says, because he has been using the Iron Man armor a lot more this week to try and sort out the issue.

"Is that progressing any?"

"Not as much as I'd like," Tony sighs. "Iron Man took years to get to the current level of cybernetic integration, so comparing the two interfaces is helping, but… Cybernetics are temperamental at the best of the time. The Iron Man one has taken years to get the kinks out of the system, but it's obviously also much more developed. I've had time to work on it. The Guardsman is a fledgling. I'm trying to make it easier to use and produce, but even as I increase the complexity, it's still not working yet."

"You'll get there, I'm sure."

Tony shakes his head. "You're right. I know I'll crack it. I just don't want to put Michael through as much trial and error as Iron Man's pilot went through."

Steve's expression is serious. "It was bad?"

Tony jolts a little guiltily, because he realizes Steve's now worried about Iron Man, and that's not a good feeling. "Uh," he says, trying to phrase it without giving too much else away. "It was painful, and I regret that part of the process, but… protecting people is all Iron Man wants to do. I think… well, it was worth the pain. I suppose that's Iron Man's perspective."

Steve nods. "You and Iron Man must know each other very well."

"I suppose you could say that," Tony says, ruefully.

"He says you're not friends, though," Steve says, cautiously, like it's something he's really worried about.

Tony presses his mouth into a line, ruing that his past candidness is causing him trouble now. That's one of the troubles of wearing a mask; sometimes he says things that surprises even him. "I guess not," Tony says, slowly. "A bodyguard and their client can't really be friends. That's not how it works. But I spend a lot of time with him." Tony smirks. "Even if he hates to be seen with me in public."

Steve chuckles too—Iron Man never being in the same room as Tony is well known, alas, but at least Tony can scrape some comedy out of it. But his expression falters into something more serious and he looks Tony in the eye. "He's happy, though?" Steve asks, his voice gentling. "I guess… I know Iron Man's life has to be pretty stressful, being an Avenger and working a high-pressure job too. He doesn't really talk that much about himself, so I… I just wonder a lot. If he's happy."

Tony can't help but meet Steve's eyes and he's taken aback by Steve's concern, but then… Steve is the leader of the Avengers, and Iron Man's one of his team. It's probably only normal to worry. "Honestly, he's never been happier," Tony says, and it's the truth.

"I'm glad to hear that," Steve says, and Tony smiles awkwardly.

"This is good, by the way," Tony says. "Did Jarvis teach you this one?"

"I called him last week for advice, actually. He said it was your favorite," Steve says, nodding. Tony freezes, mid-movement to get more of the spaghetti on his fork, because Steve deliberately called Jarvis to find out what to make?

Tony's throat feels thick. "You called Jarvis? How is he holding up?"

"I think he's recovered from his shakiness over the attack. He wants to come home, but I've asked him to stay until the bathroom by his room is finished," Steve says.

"Yeah, those Hulk-proof toilets aren't manufactured widely. I can't think why," Tony says airily, and Steve laughs. Tony resists the urge to tell Steve he's actually put in the paperwork to buy that company so he can get the superhero-friendly toilets more quickly, because Steve knows he's rich, Tony doesn't have to flex his wealth. Steve isn't the type to be impressed by it anyway. "It's great spaghetti. Thank you."

Steve smirks. "I see your tie likes it too. Honestly, it's a relief to see you rich geniuses don't always have it together."

"Huh?" Tony looks down and sees his tie is dragging in the sauce. "Oh, man," he sighs, and carefully lifts it out of his food, shaking his head.

"Here, I can try washing it off for you," Steve offers, holding his hand out for the tie. "It's not silk, is it?"

"Wouldn't have a clue," Tony admits. "I have a personal shopper." At Steve's glance, he shrugs. "Rich genius. The only time it looks like we have it together, it's probably because we've paid someone to let us pretend."

"I'll give it a try," Steve says, pulling the tie away from Tony and heading to his sink.

"I should have done that," Tony realizes, belatedly. "Sorry. It's been a long time since I've—"

"—had actual human company?" Steve laughs, running the tie under the faucet. "I'm the host, Tony, it means I'm supposed to do stuff like this. Especially when one's guest looks like he's three seconds away from falling asleep."

Tony looks at him in dismay. "I'm awake," he says. "I promise. I don't want you to think you're… boring me or anything, I'm fully committed, I'm awake—"

"Relax, Tony, I'm just making an observation, not a criticism."

"...oh." Tony blinks. He's not used to that. Normally everyone's a critic. "Well, I've been busy."

Steve nods and purses his lips for a moment, hanging Tony's tie over a radiator to dry. He heads back to his seat and sits down, but doesn't start eating straight away. Instead he looks at Tony, faintly frowning. "How much sleep have you had this week?"

"Uh," Tony says.

"A pause, _that's_ reassuring."

Tony glares at him as he honestly tries to work out the real answer. Thinking is a little more difficult than it should be. "Five," he says, triumphantly, as he figures it out.

Steve's eyes narrow dangerously. "Five nights out of seven? _Five?_"

Tony, who meant five hours total in the last seven days, shrugs.

"That's not good for you," Steve says, softly, and yeah, Tony's not correcting his assumption.

"You don't sleep much," Tony grouches.

"Super serum," Steve says, excessively slowly. "And unless there's something secret about you that you want to tell me..."

Tony forces himself not to flinch. The truth right now would only cause even _more_ shouting. "I think I'd have remembered being made into a super-soldier," Tony says, with only a small pause. "Not exactly something a person could miss happening to them, I suppose."

"The vita-rays are hard to miss," Steve allows.

"Nothing like the problem I had with the cobalt rays," Tony sighs.

Steve frowns. "Cobalt rays?"

"Hm, now I know you don't read your own paperwork—"

"I _read_ it," Steve says, defensively. "I just don't enjoy it."

"Iron Man should have briefed you on the Freak incidents. Happy and Eddie March?"

"Ah, the Enervator." At Tony's glance, Steve smirks. "See, I told you I read them."

"I read all my paperwork too, doesn't mean I can recall every single one."

"Yeah, but…. Super-serum, vita-rays, we just covered that."

Tony laughs. "Well, it would have been handy if cobalt rays were noticeable. I mean, the after-effects were _very_ noticeable. But they're invisible at the point of actuation. Same with the Guardsman flaw, really. It would be easier if I could look at one section of code and go, _ah, there you are_, but it could anywhere. Less needle in a haystack, more like needle in a stack of needles."

"Like trying to spot the real Iron Man in a whole flying army of fake ones," Steve says, looking suddenly gloomy.

"They were that similar?" Tony asks, trying not to feel a little gutted that Steve couldn't tell the _real_ Iron Man from the fakes.

"From a distance," Steve says. "Hey, I meant to thank you, actually. All that exoskeleton training you've inadvertently been giving us really paid off with Midas. I don't think I could have held him off so long without all that practice."

Tony's briefly confused, because Steve had already thanked him for that, but, oh yeah, he'd thanked him via Iron Man. This secret identity stuff was supposed to be for safety and convenience, not an additional source of headaches. "You're welcome," he says, after a longer-than-is-probably-polite pause.

"Do you have to get back to work or can you stay for a coffee?" Steve asks, and that's when Tony looks down at his plate and realizes they've finished eating. Huh. Tony's observational skills are obviously stellar tonight.

"Uh, maybe decaf," Tony admits. "I've sort of inhaled my own weight in energy drinks this last week."

"Hmm," Steve says, a loaded sound, because he's probably remembering the pile of empty cans cluttering up Tony's workspace. "I might have some herbal tea?"

"That actually sounds nice," Tony admits.

Steve makes him sit on the couch while Steve potters around the kitchen, pulling various things from his cupboards and filling up a kettle to heat on his gas stove. "I actually have some that Sitwell brought me from Europe," Steve says. "If you'd told me before that German tea would be so easy to get now, I'd have been shocked. It's supposed to be good for stress and exhaustion, I imagine you have a lot of both."

"Hmm," Tony agrees, settling into the couch. It's really soft, even though he can tell from the feet of the sofa that it's been reinforced. Most of Steve's furniture probably has to be. Tony should look into helping with that. It can't be easy being super-strong. The world really isn't built to accommodate it. He leans back his head into the cushions, looking up at the ceiling, listening to Steve hum under his breath. The kettle makes a soft whistling noise, and then there's even more pleasant noises, a spoon hitting the edge of a mug, a rustling of something being put in a bag, the soft clank of a tin being closed, water running—

When Tony jerks awake, it's to a cold mug of tea sitting on a coaster on the coffee table in front of him, and to Steve sitting in an armchair opposite, watching him with a weird expression that Tony, if he was more alert, might have described as _fond_. It's darker than it was a second ago. Tony blinks, his shoulder's protesting gently, and that's when he realizes what's happened.

"Oh my god," Tony groans, and squints at Steve, his head pounding a little. "Did I fall asleep on you?" Panic grips him and he pushes himself up a little. "I'm so sorry—"

"Hey, no, don't apologize," Steve says. Now Tony's waking up properly, he can see a book in Steve's hand. Steve has one of those fake pretend fireplaces in his apartment and he's turned it on. The flickering light from it gives the whole apartment a soft warmth, making Tony linger on the description _cozy_ again. "You were tired. I was here. Nothing's wrong. I'm pleased you felt safe enough to sleep in my apartment, I take that as a compliment."

"Still, I—I should get up," Tony says, pushing himself upright. "It's late—"

"It's not too late," Steve says, and his voice is soothing. "Just relax. I'll make you some more tea, you should rest. You're obviously exhausted. This is good for you."

Tony manages to wake up enough that he can think a little more clearly, and the truth sinks into his brain so quickly it almost hurts. "You don't have to babysit me," he says, and the words taste bitter in his mouth. He fumbles in his pocket for his phone.

"Babysit?" Steve echoes, and he leans forwards, looking baffled. "You're my friend, Tony. If a friend turned up at your house and fell asleep because they were exhausted, I think you'd let them rest. So why am I supposed to treat you differently than you'd treat me?"

"Well," Tony says, and then falters, because his logic systems are busted. He narrows his eyes at Steve. "Because you're Captain America?"

"That's just my day job," Steve says, dismissively.

Tony narrows his eyes. Why isn't Steve getting it? "I fund that day job, so you have to play nice. That's how it works. I'm okay with that."

Steve looks a little murderous again, but he looks at Tony and apparently something makes that expression fade away into a different, indecipherable expression. "It's a little difficult to hear I've fucked up so badly, to be honest," Steve says, after a second, and he sighs. "Tony, I like spending time with you. What did I do to give you the impression I feel _obliged_ to do it? Let me know, so I don't repeat it, because honestly, this idea you seem to have that I don't like spending time with you—I don't like it."

"Well, it's just—" Tony starts, and falters, because Steve's expression is so intent it's melting the brief coherence he'd thought he had a fighting chance of managing.

"Tony," Steve says, in an infuriatingly even voice. "The Avengers have never even been here. Think about it. I have the mansion available. I keep this space privately so I can have time alone for myself. Do you think I'd invite someone I only _tolerated for politeness_ into my _private space_?"

"Um. Well—" Tony blinks, confused, because it doesn't really make sense, and god, he's so tired.

"And you obviously have the same regard for me," Steve says. "I'm aware that inventors like to keep their work private until it's ready. I was really honored that you invited me into your private workspace. Even that last time, you didn't hesitate. Even though I think if you'd been getting enough sleep recently and were _alert,_ you might not have."

"But I let Michael and Happy _and _Sitwell in, too."

"Uh, Happy's your best friend, Sitwell is a SHIELD agent with security clearance almost as high as it goes, and Michael is Michael," Steve says, shrugging. "I appreciate how hard he tries. And he's got some swell stories from his cop days, don't get me wrong. I don't mind helping him out. I might not personally count him as a friend, but I can see why you like him so much."

"But… " Nope, it's still not making sense. Tony's so confused. They all like Michael, more than they like him. "But you all seemed happy when you went out for dinner with him."

"Well, we took him out because we thought he was Iron Man," Steve says, and his expression twists wryly. "At the time, it felt possible. And we felt awful that if he was, we'd left him out of so much already, so we were trying to make up for lost time. Honestly, I knew something felt off, but I put it down to the awkwardness of there being no armor. When we found out he _isn't_ Iron Man, it made much more sense to me."

"But—"

"You asked for us to look after him, and I take my promises seriously. If you want to know how I treat someone I just _tolerate,_ maybe he's a template. If you want to know how I treat someone I like, well, I guess I let them sleep on my couch if they need it." Steve stares at Tony pointedly. "So are you going to quit accusing me of not being your friend and just accept the fact you are and it's non-negotiable?"

"Uh," Tony says. "I'm sorry. I'm just—I guess when you're used to people accepting you because of your money or position, it's really hard not to just constantly think you're just being tolerated."

"Believe me, I understand. The number of missions during the war when I knew I was only there because I was _Captain America_," Steve's mouth turns downwards sourly. "Some people can't look past the uniform and the name to the person beneath."

"You mean like me, when we first met," Tony says, softly, because he's guilty of it too. So desperate for his hero to stay that he hadn't thought of the man behind the title, aching to return to his _real_ home, the past.

"You seem to think everyone needs to be measured by their past forever. That's not how life works." Steve stretches his back, still sitting in the chair, and he settles back, much more relaxed now. "We've got this sorted out now, right? You and me, we're friends."

"We're friends," Tony repeats, slowly. He pulls a face, though, because it doesn't feel real.

"I mean, you could disagree, but then you'd be calling Captain America a liar," Steve says, evenly.

Tony hisses under his breath. "That's playing dirty!" he exclaims, and Steve grins easily. "Does the public know you're that… dirty?"

"Not as dirty as that mattress in your lab," Steve says, pulling a face. "Please tell me you've thrown it out."

"No," Tony admits. "But I did buy a frame for it."

Steve looks at him askance. "You can't keep living in your lab."

"You're right. I think I'm never leaving this couch, though, so you're okay," Tony says, closing his eyes again. Just for a second. "It's good. Where did you get it?"

"What, so you can buy one for your lab and then _never_ leave? I'm onto your wily ways, you're not sliding that one past me."

"I'm so tired I don't think I have the energy to be wily," Tony says.

"Implying sometimes you _do_ have the energy to be wily."

"Gah," Tony says, eloquently, and opens one eye impetuously. "Does anyone else know you're so annoying?"

Steve beams. "Serum couldn't touch that part of me. It's all natural talent." He shifts his weight like he's thinking of getting up. "So you want to try the tea again?"

Tony opens his mouth to answer, because it is getting late, but a different noise fills the air, and Steve's expression falls. "Identicard?" Tony guesses.

"One moment," Steve sighs, and lifts up his identicard. "Hawkeye, what's up?"

Steve's too far away for Tony to hear the audio clearly, but he catches _downtown_ and _damage_ and _Wrecking Crew_ and his stomach clenches guiltily. Iron Man should be there, and he's selfishly told Steve he was away… Maybe Tony can slip away and pretend Iron Man came back early…

"Iron Man's not available," Steve says. "Shouldn't be a problem though. Yeah. I'm not too far away. I'll meet you there." Steve lowers the identicard and gets to his feet smoothly.

"I'll call my car service," Tony says, reaching for his phone again.

"Wrecking Crew are blocking the major roads," Steve says. "You stay here. I'll come back when it's safe."

Tony blinks as Steve gets to his feet, already pulling out the shield from behind a bookcase and putting it by the window. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Stay here," Steve says, his voice muffled as he disappears off into his bedroom. There's a rustling sound—Steve's changing into his uniform. "Get some sleep. It's not safe for you out there without Iron Man to protect you."

Tony had just been planning to fake calling his car service and fly off, but even that won't be possible if there's a fight nearby and Iron Man is seen flying past when he's supposed to be elsewhere.

"I can try and call Iron Man back," Tony offers.

"It's just the Wrecking Crew, you shouldn't need to disturb him," Steve says, "Promise me you won't leave."

"I'm too sleepy to leave, really," Tony says, waving a hand at him loosely. "I'll just nap."

"Good."

Tony feels like he should be feeling too guilty to fall asleep again, but he's not. He really is very exhausted. He closes his eyes. He'll just rest a little, then when Steve's gone, he'll leave a note promising he sent for an armored car or something else vaguely believable, and get back to his lab. That'll be fine.

He stirs when Steve comes back into the living area, already in his uniform apart from his cowl. It's so weird seeing the transformation, because it's not just the clothes that change, it's his entire posture. Steve's usually loose and relaxed around Tony, amiable and ambling in his movements, but Captain America is always tense and focused. Tony knows what it's like to delineate two personalities sharply. He's never really thought much about Steve feeling he has to do the same. Tony knows a little about masks helping you feel braver.

Steve pauses at the edge of the couch, and Tony squints up at him, wondering what Steve's thinking, because Steve looks lost in thought. Then Steve's mouth flattens into a line and that's all the warning Tony gets.

Before he's hauled up into the air in one easy movement.

"What the—" Tony breathes, because holy Hannah, _super-strength is right._ Steve's carrying him like he weighs absolutely nothing, in what might actually be a bridal carry, and Tony's face heats up in embarrassment, because is he actually dreaming? He doesn't really figure out what's going on until Steve deposits him gently onto something even softer than the couch.

A bed. Steve's bed. Steve's carried Tony _to Steve's own bed._

That fixes it. Tony's already asleep and he's dreaming.

Steve crouches down next to Tony so he's at face level, and his hand reaches up like he's thinking of pushing hair away from Tony's face, but that's ridiculous, there's no hair there. "Stay here," Steve says, his voice gentle. "You'd _better_ still be here when I get back."

Tony, groggily, thinks he makes a sound of agreement to this pleasant dream version of Steve. For a dream, it's pretty damn realistic. Tony curls up on his side, his head sinking into the pillow, and he thinks someone pulls a cover over him. He just makes a contented noise, letting sleep tug at him instead of fighting it.

Tony does sleep, he thinks. It's a disorienting sleep, filled with fragments of images and scents and noises that he can't piece into a whole. He drifts for a while, and then definitely falls into a deep sleep, but then he wakes a little and drifts again. It's in one of these periods of drifting that light briefly washes over his face, and Tony stirs a little.

"Hngh?" Tony manages, not quite sure all of a sudden where he is. He feels warm and safe. That's all he's figured out so far.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," Steve says, his voice gentle and low.

Tony squints, seeing a hint of blue, and Steve's wide dependable shoulders, and realization warmly seeps into his body, some of the familiar aches and pains in his shoulders from the past few weeks waking up with him. It's not been a dream. He's in Steve's apartment. Steve had to leave and fight without him. "How did it go?" he asks, sleepily.

"Eh, it's the Wrecking Crew," Steve says, pulling something out of a set of drawers by the bed. "Usual routine. Trying to steal something, Clint thinks."

"Mm, means I can go back to SI now," Tony says.

"It's late," Steve says. "_Stay_."

Tony's vision isn't fully working right; it's dark, and he's not fully awake. But he can see Steve's face in the soft light coming into the bedroom from the living room, and he can see the familiar blue of his eyes. "I might do," he manages to say. Steve's suggested it, so it must be a good idea.

"I'll be right outside if you need me," Steve says, still in that gentle, reassuring tone.

"On the couch?" Tony frowns, because he knows that's wrong, even if his brain isn't co-operating to let him know why. This is Steve's bed. Steve should be in Steve's bed. Oh god, _Tony's_ in Steve's bed. Steve's very big bed. Hngh. Tony's never going to forget this feeling. "No, no, I should be—Couch. I'm the guest."

"Exactly," Steve laughs gently. "You're the guest. I'm good with the couch."

"No," Tony says, insistently, because he's not sure why he's right, he just knows he is. "Bed's big. If I can't leave it, you can stay. ‘s only fair. Bed's big enough." He closes his eyes again. No. That's wrong. He opens them. "I'm not kicking you out of your own bed, not when you've been fighting villains. Here, I'll sleep on the floor—" He starts to push himself up, determined that he's not going to kick Steve out of his own bed just because he's been a bit stupid about getting enough sleep himself. Except then he feels a hand on his shoulder, firm and unrelenting.

Steve's face is closer to his again, the blue so sharp and real, even in Tony's sleep-deprived grogginess. "Stay there."

"But—"

"If sharing a bed is the price to get you to stay put, I'll pay it. Just promise me you'll _stay there_."

Tony hums, pleased. He always likes winning arguments. Steve stands up and moves away, and Tony's pleased, except then he starts to wonder whether Steve's lied to him to placate him, because the blue has all gone, and it shouldn't be _gone,_ and there's no sign of it. But then he hears a faucet running, and then he hears rustling, and a minute later he feels the bed dip behind him, and Tony lets the breath go that he's been holding.

For some reason, that feels better. That makes sense. Even if sense is something evading Tony at the moment.

"Sleep, Tony," Steve says, his words warm on the back of Tony's neck. As if his words are a magic spell, Tony does.


	9. Chapter 9

It is I you hold, and who holds you,

I spring from the pages into your arms—decease

calls me forth.

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

When Tony wakes, and the night's events slam back into his consciousness in one horrifying lump, he thinks he should be about to drown in overwhelming embarrassment.

Embarrassment is one of the things he's feeling, but somehow it's not the overriding emotion of the moment. It's just in the background, a note among the bouquet. Maybe it's something to do with the warmth along his back, or the heavy reassuring weight on his hip that Tony slowly realizes is Steve's hand.

And the warmth against his back is Steve. Tony's neck feels especially warm, and he realizes slowly that's because Steve's breathing directly into it. He's curled around Tony protectively, defending him even in his sleep. It's oddly sweet.

Tony thinks about trying to go back to sleep, but he catches a glimpse of the clock on Steve's side table, and it hits him then that whoops, yeah, he's in Steve's bed, and it's nearly 9 am, and Tony's probably got at least two meetings scheduled for the morning. Tony must have tensed up or something, because Steve stirs, and the warmth on his neck immediately withdraws, although it takes a few seconds longer for Steve to move his hand.

"Good morning," Steve says, and he sounds a little detached. Probably also a little weirded-out by Tony being in his bed.

Tony turns, because he doesn't want Steve to feel anything bad about this moment. For the first time in weeks he actually feels good, and that's down to Steve, so the idea of Steve regretting this, or being embarrassed too, feels suddenly unbearable. "Morning," Tony says softly, able to meet his gaze now it's light and they're facing each other.

Steve's cheeks are a little pink, but he smiles at Tony, and it seems genuine. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've had in a long while, thanks to you," Tony says. His voice is scratchy. "Sorry for crashing on you so hard."

"You really needed it," Steve says, and he stretches. Tony tries not to stare at the lithe grace in that movement.

"Ha, yeah, if I hadn't taken my shoes off when I came in, I think I'd have tried to sleep in them too," Tony laughs. He stretches too, trying to work up the strength to get up, and he pushes the covers down to make it easier, and, oh, his shirt's kind of gotten rucked up in his sleep, and the chestplate's very visible.

Steve's eyes dip to it automatically, before Tony can cover it up, and Steve's fingers drift to it automatically, touching the metal. He glances at Tony's face, like maybe somehow Tony can feel his touch. "I hate that this is necessary for you," Steve says, his eyes darkly tracing the metal and he's frowning slightly, "but it's also so clever. I can't get over how you come up with these things. I can't stop being impressed with the things your brain comes up with."

"My brain is a special place," Tony agrees, wryly. "I wish it was always on my side, or I could have figured out this damn Guardsman problem already."

"You'll get there," Steve says, soothingly, sounding patient even if it feels like it's the hundredth time already Tony's made him say that. "You're too good at what you do not to. Would you really have given up your company if Midas had leveled it to the ground?"

Tony looks at Steve. Steve's gaze is intent, and his fingers are still lingering on Tony's chestplate for some reason, probably curiosity. It's probably not an everyday occurrence to have someone in your bed with metal and electronics embedded in their chest.

Tony shrugs under the intense regard. "I don't know," he admits. It feels easy to be honest, like there's a bubble around the two of them and his words are only for this space. "I've just—I've been so _tired_. And there's nothing I can give up right now. I need to figure out something. Something _has_ to give. And the idea of not having to choose… it's an alluring what-if scenario, I can't deny that."

"You could give up your low self-esteem," Steve says, and he grins, letting Tony know it's coming from a place of good intention. Then his voice drops into an almost whisper and Tony can't look away as Steve holds his gaze and murmurs, "You are so much more worthy than you think you are."

There's a strange intimacy to this moment that makes Tony worry that his chestplate might have stopped working, because he can't breathe for a second, and he swallows. Steve's looking at him like maybe he's about to say something else, something more that will make Tony feel like he's prodding at a raw wound. He has to go. He has to move. Something has to happen. "Where's your bathroom?" Tony blurts, and it seems to snap the weird bubble around them.

"Over there," Steve says, nodding at a door to the left of the dresser. "There's a spare toothbrush under the sink, and some spare washcloths. The towels on the rack are clean."

"Okay, I need a shower, I can take a hint," Tony jokes, and pushes himself into a sitting position. Steve's already up and moving when Tony gets to his feet.

"I've got some casual clothes that might fit you," Steve offers, and Tony nods awkwardly, trying to think about what Steve might have that could even fit him. By the time Tony's got to his feet, Steve's already pushed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt into Tony's hands, and he's giving Tony a soft smile as he heads for the door. "I'm going to make some breakfast."

"Uh, thanks for this," Tony says, blinking at how fast Steve leaves the room. He hurries into the bathroom. It's a good-sized room, with a bath and shower. Tony opts to use the washcloth instead of bothering Steve for tape and a bag to cover the chestplate for a shower. He performs his ablutions as fast as he can, brushing his teeth with ferocity to make up for missing it last night, and he lies the toothbrush awkwardly on the sink so it doesn't get mixed up with Steve's. He borrows one of the clean towels to dry himself, and dresses in the clothes Steve gave him. The sweatpants are a little long, but he can tie them at the waist so he won't embarrass himself any further, and the t-shirt isn't thick enough to hide the chestplate, but it's not a secret anymore. Tony's jacket is probably on the chair he left it on last night for when he needs to go outside.

He bundles up his own clothes and fishes out his phone. There are five missed messages from Pepper, and he starts frantically responding to them as he leaves the kitchen. He responds with the tamest version of an already-tame truth that he can manage (_Steve invited me for dinner and I accidentally fell asleep on his couch and just woke up??_; it's the truth, even if it excludes the part that sounds incriminating. Pepper would never let him live it down if he'd added _Steve carried me to his bed and then I begged him to join me._), She immediately texts back with a promise to reschedule his appointments, and that he should take his time returning.

"Is that your company?" Steve asks.

"Pepper," Tony says.

"You have time for breakfast?"

"I think so," Tony says, typing a reply back to Pepper. "Do you want to go somewhere?"

"I'm already making enough for you too," Steve says.

Tony frowns. "What if I didn't have time?"

Steve looks over his shoulder and grins. "Benefit of a good metabolism. Leftovers never come in wrong."

"Jarvis said something similar to me a while back," Tony says, and glances at the table. He hesitates. "Wait, you're cooking for me _again_? I can cook, you know."

"Maybe Jarvis also told me about how well you cook fish," Steve says, humming a little under his breath as he starts adding bacon to a pan. "And the idea of you owing me dinner became very appealing."

"You think breakfast gets you a dinner?" Tony asks, sitting back down in the seat he sat in the night before and texting Pepper back the fifteen things he's already thought of that she needs to check.

"Hm, the dinner last night probably gets me dinner."

"You made me an omelet first," Tony says. "And I let you have mac-and-cheese from my company—"

"Which you didn't make yourself."

"But I fixed the ovens myself."

"Doesn't count," Steve says, almost sing-song.

"You think so, huh?"

"You gonna argue with Captain America?"

Tony laughs. "No. But I'll argue with my friend Steve." When Tony glances up, he can only see Steve's back, hunched diligently over the burners, but he can see part of the reflection of Steve's face in the shiny glass door of his microwave, and Steve's mouth is turned up in a smile.

It's only when Steve passes him a plate of eggs, bacon and toast and settles opposite him that Tony realizes he's actually in a much more vulnerable position than he usually allows himself. Normally he hates being anywhere with his back to the door. The idea of people being able to enter a room and surprise him has definitely been a complex he's developed more since Siancong, but it hasn't even bothered him here in Steve's apartment.

"So what happened last night?" Tony asks, trying to distract himself from his own weird thoughts. "Normally I'd get Iron Man's briefing."

Steve sighs. "I'm sorry, Tony. The Wrecking Crew were trying to steal some of the shipments going up to _Stark International_ for the repair work. We stopped them from taking everything, but one of your drivers is in the hospital."

Tony feels cold. He has an algorithm for deliveries so that they're harder for wannabe thieves to predict. He needs to adjust it, if the Wrecking Crew have still managed to anticipate one of his delivery routes. "How bad?" he asks, his voice cracking.

"Broken arm, possible concussion," Steve says. "And one of your trucks is probably deceased."

"As long as it's not one of my drivers, I don't care." Tony blinks unsteadily and pulls up his phone, automatically messaging Pepper to make sure the injured driver has full medical coverage and salary while he recovers. He adds a reminder to his list so he remembers to call the driver's family personally and make sure they have everything they need.

"Otherwise it was pretty routine. Jan rounded them up, Clint broke Piledriver's leg by accident—"

"I'm _sure_ it was an accident," Tony says, thinking of how Piledriver once gave Clint a black eye the night before Clint had a date.

"I wouldn't be the first to accuse a fellow Avenger of lying," Steve says, grinning.

Tony's appetite dwindles in wake of the news, but he's trying hard to be a good guest, so he dutifully eats the food. It's especially important since he's already broken all kinds of normal guest protocol by falling asleep on Steve, repeatedly.

"No one else was hurt, though," Tony presses, carefully.

Steve shakes his head. And then winces, guiltily. "Unless you count my identicard."

Tony blinks. "_Yours_? Not Hank's?"

Steve looks sheepish. "I didn't want to bother you with it until I knew you'd have time for it."

"Gimme," Tony's already holding out his hand. "Let's see what the damage it."

Steve frowns like he's going to refuse, but Tony wiggles his fingers and Steve sighs and gets up from the table. A few seconds later, he puts the identicard in Tony's hand and hovers, like he's worried.

"Ah, I can fix it right now," Tony says, pulling it open and squinting at it. "You just mashed a connection, I have a repair kit. You have a laptop, right?"

"Uh," Steve says, "over in the corner?"

"You got any USB cables?"

"Uh, I have a cable that came with the phone I don't use, I think. Will that one do?"

"Should do," Tony says. "You get me that, I'll get the laptop."

Tony heads over to the desk in the corner of the living space. While his back is turned to Steve, he lifts up his shirt and digs under the corner of his chestplate, where his repair kit is neatly embedded beneath. He never goes anywhere without it. Sometimes Iron Man needs a small fix out in the field, and the kit is invaluable. He palms the kit and then unplugs the laptop, carrying it over to the dining table, so he can finish off his breakfast and download what he needs at the same time.

Steve passes him his phone charging cable, still neatly coiled with a plastic tie holding it neatly wound up. "This do?"

"Yeah, perfect," Tony says, and opens the laptop. Steve's had it on hibernate, which means he listened to Tony's computer advice, that's nice to learn. Tony opens up the browser, slips in the USB stick he keeps in the top of his repair kit, and copies the little program he made to access his back-up server. Steve's internet connection is slow, so Tony uses the cable to hook his own phone into the laptop; the download speed nearly instantly quadruples. Tony beams. He loves technology.

Steve watches him like Tony's somehow performing open-heart surgery with a penknife and a flashlight. Tony would be flattered, except this is child's play. He opens up the back of the identicard with his repair kit, hums at the slight damage. "I'll make you another one for later, but this fix will do you for now," Tony says. "The connection here—see, the small blue wire—that shouldn't have come loose so easily—"

"Well, Wrecker hit it directly with his super-crowbar, I hardly think it was _easy_."

"Even so," Tony says. "Do you think Thor would roadtest some new identicard designs for me, when he comes by next?"

"I'll ask him for you."

"I mean, I can replicate his lightning in my development lab, but there's no real good laboratory test for lightning combined with fifty-thousand tons of kinetic force." Tony grins and taps at the keyboard, returning to his food while the code compiles. The damage is weird; Tony needs to replace the base code and recall the last upgrade from the server, so Steve doesn't lose too much of his data. "You might lose any messages you received in the past twelve hours, sorry about that."

"I'm impressed you're managing to fix it on my _dining room table_," Steve says.

"Normally Beast manages to mash it into a million pieces, this is nothing." Tony taps in a few extra line of code while he's in the interface, because he can't stop tinkering with anything. This is why he ends up being sucked into his marathon tech sessions. He's like Alice in Wonderland. He always falls straight down the rabbit hole.

"What is it you're doing now?" Steve asks, his voice louder than it was, because he's shuffled in closer to watch what Tony's doing. "Is that the code that makes it work?"

"This part here's just the firmware; that's the part that tells the module what to do. There are four parts to it, really. The code under here is the service protocol. The third part of code ensures the app adheres to the service protocol, and the last part here is just the user interface." Tony winces. "I'm not sure how to make that easier to understand."

"It's still interesting to hear, even if I'm unsure you're using actual words or just messing with me."

Tony grins. That's something half of his developers say to him too. Usually a few moments before he enrolls them on another mandatory coding course. "What happened is that when this part was shattered in the attack—" Tony uses a pair of tweezers to extract the broken nano-transistor "—it's basically the same as when you take a roundabout out from a road system. The information can still get to all parts of the card, but the driver doesn't know how to adjust for the route change. Does that make sense?"

"So right now, you're… updating the GPS to adjust for the nano-transistor being missing?"

"Yep, that's an apt enough metaphor." Tony leans in closer. The blue wire's still loose. He can probably solder it in place. "You have a gas burner, right?"

"Yeah," Steve says.

"Do not try this at home," Tony murmurs with a grin, and carries the identicard over to the oven. He clicks on a burner, and heats a length of steel wire before applying it to the back of the card, melting the exposed wire back into place, then leaves the wire on the oven top to cool down.

He sinks back into the chair, rolling up his sleeves so he can concentrate on the next part, using his tools to make sure everything's in place; pinching two distorted connections with his tweezers and carefully pushing in a small amount of putty to help keep everything in place. Then he disconnects his phone from the laptop, and uses the cord to connect the identicard directly to the laptop, pleased he decided to use a universal connector for both. When he first made the identicard he wanted them to be self-contained and reliable, but even Tony's not arrogant enough to assume technology won't accelerate past the level the identicards are at, so he's tried to make them updatable. Technology becomes obsolete in the blink of an eye.

He runs a quick diagnostic and the battery levels of the identicard seem to be normal, which is the most expensive part of the identicard; not that he's admitting that to any of the Avengers. Well, he's considering telling Beast in the hope Hank won't smash his entire card with unending regularity. But he'd never tell Steve. Steve would probably be appalled at how much the cards actually cost to make.

"I never realized how complicated it was inside," Steve murmurs. He's leaning even closer now, fascinated by the innards of the device. "You make it all look so simple."

"That's the magic," Tony says, flashing him a smile. "The easier that technology is for the consumer to use, the more work has probably gone into it behind the scenes."

Steve nods. "Like the easiest campaigns in the war were the ones we had good recon for and so we could prepare accordingly for them."

"And just like a battle, technology never works exactly like you're anticipating. Especially when you introduce more human elements to the equation."

"I've often thought my plans would be perfect if it wasn't for the people."

"Villains are very unpredictable," Tony agrees.

"Yeah, and so are Avengers. The number of times I turn around for one second and Iron Man's gone off on his own, or Clint's halfway up a tower, or Jan's playing hide-and-seek and has forgotten she's still two inches tall..."

"Avengers sound like my on-roll engineers. Sometimes I wander through my research and development labs without warning, and… there have been some sights, I tell you," Tony says. "One time I found them competing as to who could engineer the best solution for transporting a chicken the furthest along the hallway with whatever they could find in the reject room."

"And you didn't join in?"

Tony shrugs. "Just for the last five minutes and I won with just one addition." At Steve's look, he grins. "Frozen chickens slide, especially with some industrial lubricant."

Steve laughs. "I wish I was there."

"There's probably footage on StarkTube of my favorite attempt," Tony says, and taps in the URL for the video into Steve's browser. "Some of the designs were great. Trouble is, when you're used to having to come up to clever solutions, it's difficult to see the easier option. Until someone comes along and points out the obvious."

Steve chuckles as the team of engineers onscreen launch what looks like a raw chicken perched on four blowtorch-propelled roller skates; its path skews halfway down the hallway and smashes through an office door. There are off-camera screams from inside the office. The cameraman turns to Tony, who's leaning up against the door and howling in laughter.

"I suppose that's why you employ teams of engineers, for all the varying perspectives," Steve surmises. "Even though I'd imagine you get a lot of arguments sparking from all the opposing viewpoints."

"So many clashing egos," Tony agrees. "Comes with the territory. Being able to do things others can't, it can be a terribly heady sensation."

"Yeah," Steve says, glancing over to the bookcase which obscures his shield's hiding spot. "I understand that."

"That's why teams are important. No one better to deflate your ego then when someone else comes up with what you should have at twice the speed."

"Or reflate it when something goes wrong and you somehow inexplicably decide to take sole credit for the failure," Steve says, pointedly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tony says airily.

Steve nudges him companionably with his elbow, and Tony laughs, rubbing exaggeratedly at his arm. "Hey," Steve says, softly, looking at Tony's exposed arm. "Iron Man said you were in good shape. I guess he was right."

Tony blinks and looks at Steve, who's still really close. "Uh, Iron Man said that?" Steve nods and Tony swallows automatically, feeling strangely warm. "That's nice of him."

"Is it from all the engineering stuff? You seem like you know what you're doing with your hands. Not just the coding."

"I do a lot of my own blacksmithing when I can," Tony says. His voice feels a little strange. "And I, uh—" Steve's looking at him intently and the space between them suddenly feels weirdly electric. He can't come up with the right words to disguise the real reason why his physique is so good, because he can't exactly admit he's been superheroing in his spare time. How did he stay in shape before Siancong? The gym, obviously, and he's always been athletic in bed, but he feels like that's just the wrong thing to say right now, with the air so charged. "Tennis," he blurts. "I play a lot of tennis."

"Tennis," Steve repeats. He smiles slowly. "Maybe we should play sometime."

"You might have to play with your weak hand," Tony says, valiantly trying to keep talking, because he thinks if he stops he might just make a whining noise. He feels dizzy. Steve's not touching him, but his hand is so close, and Tony knows how that hand feels resting on his hip, but how would it feel on his cheek? "And maybe with your other hand tied behind your back."

Steve licks his lips and Tony actually forgets how to breathe for a second, and for the most insane second Tony thinks _does he actually want me to tie him up?_ Somehow all signs are pointing to yes, and Steve opens his mouth to say something—and a large rapping noise breaks them apart.

Tony looks at Steve in alarm. Steve's entire demeanor instantly changes and he heads for the door, moving cautiously as he approaches his front door. When he reaches the peephole his entire posture changes.

"Sitwell," Steve says, and Tony exhales. He turns back to fixing up the identicard, checking the protocol is working correctly, as Steve lets Sitwell into his apartment. "Agent. This is unusual."

"The Avengers said you'd returned to your apartment for the night," Sitwell says. "Something about an appointment, I didn't want to disturb what I presumed it was a date, but you weren't answering your identicard—"

"That's because it was damaged," Tony calls over, gesturing at what he's working on. "Nearly done."

"Uh," Sitwell says, taking in the scene, blinking rapidly. "Mr. Stark. Good morning. I wasn't expecting to see you today."

Tony beams at him politely. "Any progress with finding Madame Masque?"

"Not much to report," Sitwell says, and looks at Steve. He glances at Tony, who's clearly not at the right clearance level for what's going on. Tony inwardly sighs. _Iron Man_ will have to get the details. "Uh, we have a situation with the Wrecking Crew."

"Of course we do," Steve sighs. "I'll go get changed."

Tony runs through the last two checks and disconnects the identicard, re-starting it and snapping the case shut. He pockets his phone and the repair kit, unwilling to expose his chestplate to Sitwell to replace the kit in its proper place. Then he rises from the table, putting the laptop away before starting to retrieve his jacket and shoes.

"I noticed Iron Man was listed as unavailable on the roster," Sitwell says, as Tony ties his shoes and starts to clear up the breakfast plates, wanting to help. The show of domesticity seems to make Sitwell seem even more on edge, which amuses Tony. "Is it something dangerous?"

"He'll be back on roster by tonight, I'd imagine," Tony says. "Do you have a message for me to pass on?"

"I'll leave it as a text on his identicard," Sitwell says. "It's nothing urgent or relating to _Stark International_. Just something we have to investigate."

Tony nods.

Steve comes back out in uniform and picks up his shield, putting it on his back before throwing a trench coat over the whole ensemble so he can leave his apartment by the front door without having to answer any difficult questions from his neighbors. "Did you bring your jet?" Steve asks.

"It's on the roof," Sitwell says.

"Great. We can drop Mr. Stark off at work on the way," Steve says, in his best Captain America voice.

"I can call my car service," Tony offers. The _Mr. Stark_ stings a little, especially after how weirdly intimate the morning has felt, but it snaps Sitwell into action.

"Of course," Sitwell says. Tony sighs. He kind of wanted to fly himself for a while. Maybe there'll be a chance later, he thinks.

* * *

Tony wants desperately to change into the armor so he can join in with the Avengers business, but as soon as Sitwell drops him off at the front gates, Tony remembers why he hasn't been sleeping.

There's just so much to do.

Pepper's done her best with re-arranging his appointments, and she's even taken two of them personally, which is way beyond her paygrade (even if she is one of the highest paid Stark employees on the books). Tony feels guilty for thinking Krissy was good; his brain shuts down when he tries to think about how long Whitney Frost had been working for him, right under his nose.

Tony doesn't like how much trouble his brain has accepting it. She had been working for him in disguise for a scant couple of months. Tony's been hiding his identity from the Avengers for _years_ now. If he can't wrap his head around a temporary deception like this, how can he expect the Avengers to do the same for him? Sure, Whitney's Maggia past is dubious, but it's not like Tony has a squeaky-clean reputation either.

Steve had managed to coax Tony into a state of almost calm, but that calmness evaporates in a matter of minutes once he gets going. Still, Tony's head is much clearer, and that helps him stay on track and smash through the meetings he does have, even if his fingers are itching the whole time to dig out Iron Man's identicard and check what's going on with the Avengers.

Pepper works a miracle and gets him free at 6pm; the instant he's out of his last meeting, Tony's immediately in the armor and jetting up into the sky. He lets out a loud whoop as he hits the sweet point where he can see his headquarters below him, so far away it looks like he can fit it in the palm of one hand.

There's a definite scar across the familiar layout, but it's still _there_, bright and bustling and flourishing despite the attack. Tony allows himself one moment to appreciate the sight and then he heads directly for the mansion. Protocol for when he's inactive dictates he needs to drop there first to re-activate himself, if there's no immediate trouble. From the gist from the message Sitwell left him, there's no immediate trouble; Sitwell just needed Cap's help to help interview the uncooperative Wrecking Crew. Tony's anxious to know if there's been any update on that.

He should also go see the driver in hospital, but the guilt already has him feeling nauseated. Employees probably didn't appreciate visits from their boss in hospital if said boss vomited over them.

Tony lands in the back garden of the mansion, using his access code to let him in the back door; he doesn't feel like coming in from the roof. He's craving comfort, a familiar environment, even if he has to be in the suit to do it.

Simon and Clint are in the kitchen, surrounded by takeout cartons. Since Jarvis still hasn't returned, clearly the Avengers haven't quite gotten the hang of fending fully for themselves.

Well, it's not like Tony can judge.

"Iron Man!" Clint grins when he sees him. "Missed you last night."

"Sounds like you had fun without me," Tony says, joining them at the table. "Want to update me?"

"Wrecking Crew," Simon sighs. "Can't believe they're out of prison. I'm sure they were supposed to get four years even at _good_ levels of behavior. I refuse to believe they've behaved."

"Do you want some of these, tin man?" Clint tips his carton of noodles toward Tony. "I suppose you could suck one up a straw if you tried really hard."

Tony laughs. "I'm good. I don't like to eat before I fly."

"Oof, I can identify with that," Simon says. "Do you remember my old rocket pack? I hope your jet boots give you a smoother ride."

"Smoother with every upgrade," Tony admits. "Sorry."

"Why are you sorry? You don't have to apologize for your boss's inventions just because you wear one," Simon says. "Besides, I'm not sorry. They were great for when I needed them. Man, I miss having him around here all the time. I had an idea about a defensive concussive device; I want to know if I'm mad or if it's possible."

"If you drop O'Brien off at _Stark International_ any time over the next few weeks, you should stop by his office," Tony suggests. "Even if he's busy, you can let his PA Pepper know that you're there on Avenger business; she'll get you in to see him."

"That's good to know," Clint says. "I think I'm on the schedule for next week, and I forgot to thank Stark for the archery range upgrades he did before the mansion got hit again."

"Did Cap tell you about the point idea Mr. Stark had?" Tony asks. "So you could do your target practice and the range would log your results, let you compete against yourself?"

Clint's eyes go wide. "Man, we need to convince Cap that your boss can come back. He was just overreacting. The chestplate thing was an accident, yeah?" Tony nods. It really was just a freak accident that meant his powercells got smashed. The odds were pretty low. "Cap's all right with the _rest_ of us wandering around here with the mansion as a target."

"Well, some of us can survive random attacks," Simon says.

"Uh, and some of us are human," Clint points out.

"He was just trying to keep my boss safe," Tony says. "Which, as his bodyguard, I appreciate the intent."

"You knew Stark was hurt again, didn't you?" Clint asks, his mouth turned down at the edges. "God, I hated that entire week when we thought he was dying. Sucked."

"The money to run the Avengers is in trust," Tony offers.

"Fuck the money, he's one of us," Clint sniffs. "I kind of weirdly miss him banging around downstairs while we're training sometimes."

Tony frowns. "What do you mean?" The combat simulation room walls have always been enhanced with noise-reductive measures, because training gets noisy sometimes.

"Ah, guess you miss out on Cap's running drills on the track," Simon sighs. "I keep telling him, my powers mean I don't need to do laps, but… team bonding, or whatever. There's no noise-proofing there, so when your boss is down in the lab downstairs, you can hear him smacking things with hammers, or whatever else it is he does."

"Shit, I can probably—_ask_ him—" Tony covers up his near-slip awkwardly, "—to put some soundproofing in the ceiling so you're not bothered." He'd already added fixing the cracks in the ceiling to his epic to-do list; some sound-proofing would be easy enough to do at the same time.

"I just said we _missed_ it," Clint says, staring. "You okay, Shellhead? Maybe you should get a hearing check." He beams at Iron Man encouragingly. "When was your last health check?"

"I refuse to answer on the grounds I may incriminate myself," Tony says, slowly. "I'll ask Doctor Blake, next time he's in town. Thor usually brings him by, whenever he's around."

"I hope that's soon," Simon says. "That's _two_ assholes with loud hammers I miss."

"My boss is an asshole," Tony says, flatly, even though, yeah, he can kind of see where Simon's coming from.

"I mean asshole affectionately," Simon says.

"Simon's still sore that Thor's stronger than him," Clint says. "And that Mr. Stark provided the equipment to categorically prove it."

"I'm still really strong," Simon sighs. He eyeballs both Clint and Iron Man. "Stronger than both of you."

"Oh, no argument there," Clint says. "My aim, however, leaves both of you in the dust." He flings a chopstick in illustration, smirking when it somehow sticks right in the slim gap between two of the kitchen cupboards.

"I… have roller skates in my suit and you don't?" Tony offers.

"Damn," Clint informs Simon. "I think he wins."

"So where are the others?" Tony asks, eyes sliding to the doorway even though the screens in his mask will flash if anyone comes into the room.

"Hank's on a date," Simon says. "Jan has a show coming up in a few weeks, and she's taken the evening off to go work on some new designs she had the idea for last night."

"Something about the color of Bulldozer's uniform contrasting well with the color of his blood," Clint explains. "I didn't realize the Wasp was so _metal_."

Tony grins, glad Jan's finding time to work on her personal life at the same time as being an Avenger. It's good one of them is managing to find the balance. "And Cap?"

"Still off with Agent Sitwell," Simon explains. "Trying to put the squeeze on the Wrecking Crew, figure out what they were after." His face darkens. "Last we heard, one of them had a picture of Detective O'Brien in their pocket."

Tony feels cold. "What?"

"I know, right?" Clint shakes his head. "We've been spending some of the day asking around. Turns out some people still think he's Iron Man, even though—Hey, I guess you could be." He narrows his eyes. "Have I ever seen you both in the same room at the same time?"

Tony stops and thinks about it. "Just last week," he says. "When we were wrestling for the google-eyed monstrosity?"

"Oh, yeah," Simon says.

"Don't call our child a _monster,_" Clint says, outraged.

Tony stares. "Who are you including in _our?_"

"Every single Avenger, past and present," Clint says. "That's why we picked the sweatiest mat to make him out of so, there was DNA from as many Avengers as possible."

"_That's_ why we picked that one?" Simon's mouth falls open. "Now I wish that I hadn't opened my mouth when Jan shoved it at me."

Tony turns his mask in Clint's direction even though he can't share his actual wince; Clint winces visibly enough for both of them. Tony's warning system lights up then, someone approaching, and he turns to face the doorway. Tony doesn't know why he's almost disappointed to see it's Michael. It's ridiculous to have been expecting it to be Steve. Tony's armor picks up on the mansion door codes, so he'd know if it was Steve.

"Hey, Iron Man," Michael greets, beaming at him. "Long time no see."

Tony opens his mouth to tell him that Michael saw him _two days ago_ for another brain scan, then he remembers he wasn't Iron Man at the time. "I just dropped by to check in," Tony says.

"It's nice to see you," Michael says, and he's grinning. Tony supposes it's because he is in on the joke of a lifetime—that Tony Stark is actually a decent person. Or, well, he's trying his best to be. "I was just feeling stir crazy and hoped that maybe someone was around? If you're not too busy."

"Hey, we can spare some time," Simon says. "Do you want to do some drills? Watch some TV? Watch Clint try and write his report that he should have done last night?"

"Ugh," Clint sighs. "Don't remind me."

"Drills, I guess," Michael says. "If Iron Man can stay. I love seeing the armor in action."

"Don't worry, the starry-eyed infatuation with Stark's suit fades by about the third time Iron Man makes you land on your butt," Clint informs him.

"You liked the armor, huh?" Tony asks Clint, as Simon quickly pushes their leftovers into the fridge. Tony catches a glimpse of the chaos inside and winces, making an internal note to hire a cleaning service before Jarvis gets back.

"You telling me the novelty of being able to fly _not in a plane _ever fades?" Clint asks, matching Tony's pace as they head towards the elevator to go down to the training floor. "Because I'm not afraid to call you a liar to your face."

Tony, who is a liar, can't deny it. Especially because he was just thrilling about flying on his way to the Mansion. "It doesn't get old for a single second," he admits. "I wish everyone could experience the armor."

"Aw, I always thought I could pilot it, if I had to," Clint says, his face falling. "I'm sure you don't need to be as smart as a rocket scientist to fly the suit, right? Just to make it?"

"Hmm," Tony says, pretending to think about it. "You're still probably not smart enough."

Clint smacks him in the arm as the four of them pile into the elevator for the short ride downstairs. "We used to be pretty good enemies, Iron Man. Don't make me revert to my old wicked ways."

Tony laughs. "I'm sure if Mr. Stark could calibrate it to work for you, then you would be able to fly it. Alas right now, you'd get a migraine and probably crash into a wall. This is more than just a metal suit of armor, despite what it looks like."

"The Guardsman armor is closer to being the metal suit of armor," Michael says. "I've tried both. The Iron Man armor is like shoving your head directly into a computer."

"That's kind of awesome," Simon says, regarding Iron Man with an interesting expression as they step out of the elevator and head for the combat simulation room. "I've never really wondered how you see out of that mask."

"I can just hook my internal feed up to the monitors in the combat room if you're that curious," Tony says. "It's easy enough. I guess I didn't think you'd be interested."

"Sometimes it's more important to know your fellow Avenger _can_ do something, rather than _how,_" Clint says. "But other times, the stuff we can all do is really cool, and we rarely get the time to really linger how _freaking cool_ our lives are. I mean, one of our friends is a_ God._ Simon died and came back to life. You rock around in a robot. Hank's a literal beast but with a mind the size of a planet? Mind-blowing. Cap's an actual living legend who survived being deep-frozen for _decades_. Jan turns teeny-tiny, like she _actually shrinks_, like a real-life Mrs. Pepperpot. I know we've all gone through hell recently, but… it's nice to take a step back and realize holy_ crap,_ we kick ass, you know?"

"Nicely said," Simon says, even though he kind of flinches at the _died _part, which he's still personally struggling with.

"And obviously O'Brien here was a New York cop. _Deliberately._ He on-purpose decided to do that as a job," Clint says. "That takes a _special_ brand of special."

"We need to work on your vocabulary," Simon says, slinging an arm around Clint's shoulders as they head for the simulation room.

Tony does show them what's on his monitor feed, after doing a brief spree of coding to make sure his own name and personal stats don't show up, and Clint is genuinely impressed by it, which makes Tony beam, because he really is proud of Iron Man.

Michael looks up at the display. "I didn't get to admire this so much when I was busy being kidnapped by the Mandarin," he says. "It's incredible."

"The Guardsman will have as much of this as possible," Tony says. "Uh, so my boss says. If he can figure it out."

"Do you think _our_ boss could figure out how to add in an extra video stream?" Michael asks. "Maybe overlaid on the alert screen? So alerts pop up when you need them, but you can stream videos in the space?"

"I suppose it's technically possible," Tony says slowly, his brain already whirling. "What kind of video stream?"

"Just regular video streaming, like… cable TV."

"If we put in a satellite receiver in the shoulder pads, there's some empty space there, and added in some code, I suppose I could… persuade Mr. Stark to do it," Tony says, realizing his drift into engineering-mode nearly made him slip. Dammit. "He'd want to know why."

"I bet he would," Michael says, and winks at him. Tony huffs exasperatedly. "Ah, it's just—I bet there's a lot of overlay, y'know, the superhero gig versus being a cop. Much less paperwork too, probably."

"You'd be surprised," Clint offers, from where he's helping Simon get out one of the training arms. Tony squints judgmentally at their choice. Well, if they want to spend an hour dodging random projectiles, it's up to them, he supposes.

"Well, anyway, I always hate stake-outs, so I figure a TV feed or something might be fun," Michael says, and he beams at Tony. "I guess with the whole metal armor thing, fitting snacks in is difficult, so I might as well have _something_ built-in in order to survive a stake-out."

"It's not so much fitting the snacks in," Tony says. "We could add a snack compartment to the Guardsman armor. It's just a matter of fitting the pilot into the suit _after_ the snacks."

"I guess metal doesn't stretch like spandex does," Michael says, sadly looking down at his own midriff.

"Spandex does stretch," Clint offers, "but sometimes you _really don't look good when it does._"

"Some of us just look good all the time," Simon says, striking a pose.

Tony laughs. "Let's get a routine started, huh, hot stuff?"

"Iron Man thinks I'm hot," Simon informs Clint.

"Well, I've been hit in the head a lot since this superhero business started," Tony admits. "Occupational hazard."

"Still seems fun," Michael says.

"That's because New York cops also get hit in the head a lot," Tony points out.

Michael shrugs, unable to argue.

The training exercise he starts for them is so physically demanding that Michael and Clint drop out after twenty minutes to cheer Tony and Simon on, although Clint does pin some of the spheres to the wall with his arrows when he gets his breath back. Tony's breathing is harder than usual, he's out of practice, and he nearly misses the alert that shows him Captain America's code has been used on the back door of the mansion.

Even though he catches sight of it, Tony can't do much but renew his effort to bring the session to a close. Simon picks up on the speed increase, and his competitive nature means he increases his own effort, and the timing is nearly perfect—Steve slips into the room for the last minute of the session.

Tony bursts the last two spheres that the arm throws out with one neat repulsor blast and he whoops, even though the console display shows that Simon hit the most of them. Simon neatly high-fives him as they head over to Steve, everyone keenly aware what Steve's serious expression means.

"We assembling, Cap?" Clint calls over, hand hovering over his bow.

"No, but we should stay on alert, if we can," Steve says. Now Tony's closer he can see Steve's shoulders are hunched and he looks exhausted. Tony's heart leaps. He feels the best he has in days, mostly because of Steve, so his fatigue is a gut punch. Steve still smiles a little on seeing Iron Man, which makes Tony feel better, although also guilty that Iron Man's appearance is so rare that it makes Steve visibly pleased.

"What's the sitrep?" Tony asks.

"Like we suspected, the Wrecking Crew should have still been in custody at Ryker's island," Steve says.

"A break-out, then," Simon surmises, and Steve nods.

Tony stares and swallows hard. It wasn't long ago since he was last at Ryker's island, battling the Controller and the Blood Brothers. He'd known the place needed upgrading so further escapes didn't happen, but apparently they haven't listened to his advice. "Are they the only escapees?"

"No," Steve says softly. "The Blood Brothers are out, again. And..."

"And?"

"I'm so sorry, Iron Man," Steve says, and he doesn't need to say the name, Tony knows exactly who else has escaped. "Please pass my condolences to your boss. But..."

"Midas," Tony says. "Midas has also managed to escape."

Steve nods. "With at least a handful of some other mercenaries."

Tony sags. For a morning that had started out so promisingly, supervillains really knew how to ruin someone's day.

"We'll find him," Steve promises.

As usual, Tony thinks, Steve is right. They will find Midas. Most people don't know that Tony Stark is Iron Man, and the benefit to that is Midas doesn't know either. He doesn't know Tony Stark is Iron Man. Therefore he doesn't know that Tony Stark… is an Avenger.

And Tony will make him regret even putting one lousy hand on _Stark International_.


	10. Chapter 10

So I pass—a little time vocal, visible, contrary,

Afterward, a melodious echo, passionately bent for—

death making me undying

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

In the week since finding out that Midas is not in custody anymore, Tony's mood has been sour. He feels like he has good reason for it, but it's still a fight not to take it out on anyone else.

From the memo he gets, after he drops by the engineering department for a quick update on how reconstruction of the manufacturing room is going, apparently he's not been all that successful. Tony sighs, and orders an apology coffee machine for the engineering lounge. After a second thought, he only orders decaf pods for it, because he doesn't really want his entire engineering corp to die.

The night with Steve taught Tony one fact that he feels up to facing, even if the rest of the night is something he still can't really process: taking a break and eating a real meal is probably a good step towards normality. Something has to give more permanently in Tony's schedule, and _soon,_ but eating crap out of his vending machines is probably just hastening the need for that decision to be made.

Pepper agrees, and puts a regular dinner break on his schedule, making sure that every other day, at least either Pepper or Happy is available to come with him. Happy's technically on staff as Tony's chauffeur still, but he volunteered to do some supply driving with one of the drivers out of commission, and Tony really appreciates his friend stepping up like that, even if he does double security on all of Happy's routes.

Pepper also ensures she physically comes down to the workshop to bodily yank him out of there, otherwise he tries his "just ten more minutes, Pep" routine, where ten minutes "accidentally" becomes three hours. (He gets away with it for two days until she cottons on and puts her foot down.)

Michael's due to come by for another brain scan—Tony's scheduling them weekly at the moment because he needs regular information, even if he feels like he's banging his head against a brick wall—and he's almost looking forward to seeing Clint outside of the mansion. He hopes Clint knows to wear civilian clothes if he's coming inside; he doesn't want to lose his entire administration department's productivity when they realize there's an Avenger on-site.

When he accidentally voices this thought out loud to Pepper, who really probably shouldn't know the incoming guest is Hawkeye, she cocks her head. Oh, well, she's covered for Tony's secret identity long enough. She can handle one more.

"Maybe you should message him and _ask_ him to come by in his uniform," Pepper suggests. "The administration department probably wouldn't complain."

Tony squints. "Did I yell at them too?" Pepper's expression softens. Tony sighs. "Maybe they'd like a new TV in their staff lounge."

Pepper grins at him, leading him into the cafeteria. He follows along behind her, dutifully asking for salad before she can eyeball him, and he's carefully following her to a table afterward when she stops suddenly and swivels on her heel. He nearly bumps into her and stares at her in shock.

"I'm going to eat outside," Pepper says. "It's a nice day."

Tony glances at the windows and then looks at her in surprise, because the clouds are hanging low and dark in the sky. It looks minutes away from rain. Why would she want to eat outside in those conditions?

"Guess you'll have to find someone else to sit with," Pepper says, and turns Tony around to face the doorway.

Where Steve is standing awkwardly with Michael.

Tony turns quickly back to Pepper, a protest half-ready that he and Steve aren't like that, _they're just friends,_ but the little minx just winks at him and hurries off before he can vocalize that argument.

He allows himself just a second to be frustrated at Pepper's meddling, but then smiles, because he's pleased to see Steve. Wait. He's pleased to see both of them. He waves at them and sits at the nearest empty table. Michael waves and then trots off over to one of the other tables, high-fiving one of the receptionists and settling in to talk to them. Apparently he's been making friends at _Stark International_ during his time here. Well, Tony's not surprised. Michael's very personable.

Steve heads over towards Tony, but Tony gestures at the serving hatches pointedly. Steve rolls his eyes but does go and get some food before coming to join Tony at his table.

"I don't just come here for the food," Steve says.

"I know," Tony says, and beams. "But I'm glad you do. I hate eating alone." It's not something he's told many people, and from Steve's expression, Steve realizes it's a rare truth too. "I thought it was Clint's turn to escort O'Brien," Tony says. Then he double-takes, because maybe he's not supposed to know that; Clint told _Iron Man_ he had the next babysitting-Michael gig. Well. He and Iron Man are widely known to share information regularly.

"He still had a report to finish," Steve says. "Don't worry, I made sure to tell him he was also missing out on good food by his lapse in responsibility."

Tony smirks. "Did you also tell him you'd rather throw his report out of a window than read it?"

"It's Clint," Steve says. "Anyone would rather throw his reports out of a window rather than read them." He shares a conspiratorial smile with Tony. "Besides, the Wrecking Crew had Michael's photograph with them. If someone's after him, I want to make sure he's safe."

Tony nods, his throat suddenly dry, so he reaches for his water and gulps at it. It doesn't help. "Any sign of Midas?"

"Unfortunately not," Steve says.

"I've been working on clearing the old Iron Man armors, but they're clean so far," Tony sighs. "I guess he used them to copy from and just discarded them."

"Well, I'm glad you have them back." Steve looks at Tony. “Speaking of your back… You told me you ordered a frame, I just wanted to be sure you still weren't sleeping on that gross mattress on the floor?”

“I’m not,” Tony assures him.

“Good. I’ve been worried.”

"Well, I'm sure there's a compliment in the fact you've been thinking about me in a bed," Tony says, trying to joke, and Steve's face does something complicated.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Steve says, and oh, there's definitely more than one way to interpret that, and Tony looks up at him to make a joke about it, but Steve's expression is serious, almost confrontational. Tony's trying very hard to decipher it in an innocent way, but he's coming up short. Especially combined with the heated look in Steve's eyes.

When it comes to life, the only thing Tony's really confident in is his technology and his engineering. Things he can figure out with math or his hands, or ideally both at the same time. In every other arena, Tony's faking it pretty hard. The confidence and swagger is all just as much of a mask as the Iron Man armor. There's so much about him that's just a construct of some form.

Steve's seen him vulnerable and probably at his most real. The real Tony is somewhere in the middle of the ego, in the middle of the self-destruction. Sometimes the most he can be himself in public is when he's hidden behind red-and-gold armor. The closest Tony's felt to _right_ in years is somewhere between fighting as Iron Man alongside the Avengers, and sitting at Steve's dining room table, fixing something that's broken.

"I—" Tony starts, and Steve's mouth quirks up at one side, except neither Tony or Steve learn what Tony's about to say. Tony thinks it might have been dangerous, by the way a single word of it made his throat burn. But Steve's identicard chirps, a familiar beep, and Tony's pocket vibrates softly against his thigh. One of his identicards has had an alert, and Tony would place good money on which one it is.

"Dammit," Steve says, his face going dark as he reads the message. "We need O'Brien. Something's happened to his dad."

Tony's immediately on his feet, looking over to the corner where Michael had been, but the receptionists are chatting among themselves, and Michael's nowhere to be seen.

Tony narrows his eyes. How would O'Brien know about his father going missing? Tony's chestplate suddenly feels heavier, and that must just be panic. He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out_ his _identicard, not Iron Man's, the one that was just supposed to be for Michael to contact him on. His fragile heart sinks when he sees there's a copy of the message on there from Clint, saying that there's been a ransom note delivered to them: an anonymous villain is demanding Michael O'Brien be given to them, in order to ensure the safe return of Michael's father, John O'Brien.

Clint must have just hit the _message all _feature, and Tony's the idiot futurist who put that messaging feature in as an option. Michael's father is in danger, somehow, and that's Tony's fault for involving any of the O'Brien brothers in his life.

Tony takes a deep breath. He can't think about blame right now. Because if his father was alive, Tony would do anything to save him from villains, even with their rocky relationship. And it wouldn't matter the personal price, Tony would pay it.

"The Guardsman armor," Tony whispers.

Steve hears him and immediately understands; his expression changes into purely business. "Your workshop?"

Tony takes off running; he thinks Steve's following him. Tony's cursing himself as he runs, because he feels so stupid. The Guardsman armor is locked in the workshop, but Tony hasn't prioritized locking it up from Michael because he's had a thousand things to do. Some things had to get pushed down the list. He thought he could trust Michael. Maybe he can. Maybe he's just overreacting.

The hole in the door to the lab speaks volumes. Tony feels like his poor broken heart is a lump in the back of his mouth as he climbs through the gap and hurries down the stairs. His thoughts are a flurry, maybe he's got here in time, maybe Michael hasn't taken the Guardsman armor already… Unfortunately, as soon as Tony hits the bottom of the staircase, he knows his hopes are futile.

"Dammit," Tony curses, and slams his hand against the nearest worktop. Pain blossoms through him and he stares at the empty table in horror. Michael's used one of the stun guns at its highest settings to punch through the door. The Guardsman armor must be affecting him negatively already. There's no reason to damage the door; Michael had the codes to open it. Damn everything to high heaven.

Tony hadn't put securing the Guardsman armor as a higher priority on his list because yet again he'd trusted someone he absolutely shouldn't.

"I'm an idiot," Tony says, numbly staring at the empty table. "I'm a goddamned idiot, I keep doing it over and over again, _trusting_ people. I'm an absolutely goddamned _fool_."

"Hey," Steve says, close behind him and realizing the same thing that Tony has—that Michael has the Guardsman armor. "No. Tony, no. Look at me."

Tony resists for a moment, but Steve tugs at him, coaxes him around to face him, and holds him firmly by the elbows. Tony hates that he's grateful for it. Hates that it's probably the only thing keeping him upright at this very second. "I'm so sorry," he says. "This is all my fault."

"For trusting a friend?" Steve shakes his head. "Tony, that's one of the most admirable things about you, and trust _me_ if you can, there's a lot. The fact you have been betrayed, over and over, and yet you still try to have faith in people—that's so inspiring. So many other people would give up entirely, but you keep fighting. That's brave. Braver than you realize."

"I'm not—" Tony starts, but he shakes his head. This isn't the right time. "We have to surmise that Michael has the Guardsman armor and he's already wearing it. He won't be himself. You'll have to stop him. There's a weakness in the neck I haven't worked out yet, a solid hit might disable the, uh, the internal exoskeleton—"

Steve nods. "We do have one problem," he admits. "I didn't want to bother you to get the shield through security, so I left it behind. And my uniform." He smirks wryly. "I didn't think it would be a problem."

"It's probably not a problem," Tony says, and he turns to one of the storage sections in his workshop. He punches in the code to unlock it, despairs that he didn't think to lock the Guardsman armor up physically on a day he knew Michael would be on-site, and yanks out a box. "Here, I have a prototype I was making for you. A few months ago, and some of the dimensions might be off. I didn't finish the belt as much as I was meaning to."

"Awesome," Steve says, and immediately starts shucking his shirt off.

"Oh, my," Pepper says from the doorway, already picking over the debris. She must have followed him on seeing him run out of the cafeteria like his ass was on fire. "Uh, maybe with the current damage, you should hang up a curtain or something, if you're going to be doing personal things in your workspace, Tony?"

Tony freezes and looks at Steve, who shrugs. "Um," Tony says, as Pepper takes in the scene. Her eyes catch on Steve, beautifully shirtless, and then she sees the Captain America uniform hanging from Tony's hands, and her eyes narrow suspiciously.

"I'll leave you to it," Pepper says, beaming at him widely; she hurries rapidly back up the stairs.

"Great, now she thinks I'm banging my consultant and making him dress up as Captain America in the process," Tony sighs, rubbing at his forehead. "Awesome."

"I think she'll figure it out when Captain America comes running out past her in a couple of minutes," Steve grins. "Don't worry about it, Tony. She seems trustworthy."

"She's the best," Tony says. "Oh, wait, you need a shield."

"I can probably manage," Steve says, quickly resuming getting dressed.

"Mmhmm, but you don't have to," Tony says, and pulls open the drawer of shields he'd been working on. They were all from before he realized it was pointless to design more options, because Steve was emotionally attached to his vibranium shield. Still, there are a few viable prototypes, and any of them will do in a pinch. This definitely counts as a pinch. "Captain's choice."

Steve hurries over to his side and stares down at the shields, his eyes wide. "Seriously, Tony, this is—I can't even figure out _when _you do all of this."

"Sleep is for the weak," Tony says dismissively and he goes over to the corner, immediately punching up the feed to the mansion.

Jan answers immediately like she's just been waiting by the monitor, her face filling the screen. "Tony, you've heard already? Where is he?"

"Cap's just off to find him now," Tony says. "O'Brien's stolen the Guardsman armor, so he's not himself. You need to be aware if you fight him, he won't be in his right mind."

Jan's frown deepens. "Right. I'll let the others know. Agent Sitwell is helping us get ready. The note said for Michael to go alone to his father's residence, so Clint's readying the quinjet now."

Steve joins Tony by the camera, strapping the new cowl onto his head as he does. "I'm going to try to intercept Michael now," he says. He's already got the renaissance-shaped shield strapped onto his arm. It's not vibranium, but it's the strongest alloy Tony has access to, with additional flame-retardant coating. "But if I'm too slow, meet me at the O'Brien property. Tell Sitwell to meet me outside _Stark International_ with his plane, the rest of you need to get their _now_."

"See you there, Cap," Jan says, and disconnects the feed.

"I'm going outside," Steve says.

"I'll call Iron Man, he'll join you as soon as possible," Tony says.

Steve gives him a short nod. "Thanks, Tony," he says, and hesitates like he's going to say something else, but then he ends up turning on his heel. "I'll make sure Michael's safe, don't worry," he says, before disappearing up the stairs.

Tony hears Steve say something to Pepper, and then counts to five, because Steve's fast and won't hesitate, but Tony needs five seconds to calm down.

He's terrified. He's beyond terrified. Kevin took the Guardsman suit before it was ready, and it drove him insane, and Tony couldn't stop him without—well, without killing him.

When Michael wore the suit last, he tried to kill Tony Stark _and_ Iron Man.

Michael's out there right now. The suit's systems have probably already ramping up Michael's paranoia and anger. It must already be overwhelming his logic. It's like the whole Guardsman system just traps the wearer's brain in an inescapable and increasing loop of negativity.

Tony takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he faced Kevin it was as Iron Man, but he was alone then. This time he's not. He has Pepper and Happy working for him. He has Steve outside. The rest of the Avengers are on their way to the O'Brien house.

Tony opens his eyes and wiggles his wrists in unison, the Iron Man suit seamlessly coming out from his chestplate, settling over his body. No time for any more hesitation. This time, he's going to save both of the O'Briens in imminent danger.

As Tony walks up the stairs, he remotely activates the codes that make his panic room seal itself. He can hear the wall slamming down over the shattered door behind him. When Pepper looks up, her face is pale.

"So Steve is..." Pepper starts, and trails off. She still looks a little poleaxed.

"Yep," Tony says, the modulator crackling over the simple syllable as he answers the unfinished question.

"Huh," Pepper says. "Security sent out an alert. _Captain America_ is battling someone wearing green-colored armor, over by the front gates."

"Tell them to hold back," Tony says. "Iron Man's on his way."

"Tony," Pepper says. "I don't have to tell you to take care, do I?"

"No," he says, and he lifts up the faceplate so she can see his appreciative smile. "But I do like hearing it."

Pepper smiles warmly, if a little weakly. "And Steve really _is_ the _actual_—"

"Like me, he's the one and only," Tony says, winking at her, and jamming the faceplate back down.

Pepper swallows and reaches for the phone to call security, and Tony heads straight for the window, sliding it open and throwing himself out. Steve's right. Doing that is _so_ much better than doing paperwork.

He powers up his jet boots and makes the all-too-familiar short flight to the front gates. Tony's throat is dry, because this was so close to where Kevin died. For a second he just wants to melt into the floor and turn completely into liquid, something the Melter would probably be in favor of. He owes Kevin, so much. He can pay a little of that debt by saving Michael.

Tony lowers himself down and gently joins the battle. He can't use any of his major weapons against him; they're too dangerous. He uses his repulsor blasts on the ground instead, mostly to send up a spray of gravel, forcing Michael to retreat further into the courtyard where he can cause the least damage. Tony resents that he already attached a stun-gun blaster to the Guardsman armor, because he has to move quickly in order to get three of his security guards out of the way.

"Stay down," Tony commands, pulling them down behind a pile of bricks that haven't been relocated to the back building area yet. "We need to keep him within the compound, if we can. There's a man in that armor, a good man who is not in his right mind. We need to subdue him. Shoot to injure, not kill, if you need to."

"Of course, Iron Man," one of the guards says.

"Only shoot if he gets past us," Tony commands, and flies back into the fight.

There have been a lot of mass fights for the Avengers recently, so fighting what is essentially just a two-on-one battle takes a moment to adjust to. Once Tony does adjust, it's almost seamless. He and Cap usually fight well together, but taking Michael down feels almost like a choreographed dance that they've practiced for. Tony lures Michael's attention his way so Steve can leap onto his back. Tony twists to avoid another angry stun blast from him, Steve hits Michael with the pointed end of the prototype shield, and Michael goes down.

Tony reaches in, managing to pull out the power core as Michael struggles in Steve's grip. Tony executes the right twist to yank off the Guardsman helmet, separating it from the rest of the armor, leaving Michael spluttering into the air. Even without the helmet and connection, the madness still lingers.

"Give it back, let me _go,_" Michael yells, still struggling even though the armor is right now essentially a paperweight on his body.

"Stay down," Steve hisses.

"You don't understand, my dad, they have my _dad_, neither of you have any family left alive, you don't _understand!_" Michael wriggles desperately.

Tony inhales sharply at the low blow. He has a cousin, but after Morgan's shenanigans last time they crossed paths, Tony feels like he doesn't count as family.

"I can't speak for Iron Man, but I _do_ have a family," Steve says. "The Avengers are my family. And unless you want me to call them away from going after your father, you will _calm down_."

"We'll get your dad back, O'Brien," Tony insists.

Michael shoots him a look of pure anger, his eyes shining. "Why should I trust you, you don't even trust your own teammates! It's been years, _Iron Man,_ and you've never told them your name! What could the reason be, if not lack of trust?"

Tony stares, feeling sick. Steve's so close, his eyes locked on Michael, and Tony can't imagine how Steve feels hearing that.

"It's not lack of trust," Tony says, and even though his voice is shaky, the modulator does its job. Designed to compensate for exhaustion in battle, his words come out strong. "The truth is, I'm scared."

Both Michael and Steve end up staring at him for that, and Tony shrugs.

"Underneath this armor, I'm nothing but a human," Tony says. "A flawed, kind of terrible human. But trust is not the problem. I'd trust the Avengers with my life any time of any day." Tony holds out his palms, trying to show there's honesty there despite the disguise. "The Avengers can do anything. You can't let my personal issues make that anything less than true. We will get your father back."

"I could know Iron Man's name, and it wouldn't change a thing," Steve says softly, looking at Michael again. "You've met me, both as Captain America _and_ as Steve Rogers. A name doesn't mean anything. It doesn't change who I am. Names mean nothing. Actions mean everything. It's not what someone says, it's what they _do_. And Iron Man trusts us with his life every single day. We all do. We will do our best to save your dad. And you can help, just… not in that suit."

"We can get you your exoskeleton," Tony says. "And as many of Kevin's stun guns as you can carry. Just step out of the armor. Before it kills you like it did Kevin."

Michael stares at him, his eyes wet, and then, finally, nods. Tony sags in relief and Steve gently lets Michael go. Michael starts to peel himself out of the Guardsman armor, looking wretched.

"Good job," Steve mouths at Tony.

Tony just inclines his head, overwhelmed. If it wasn't for the suit and the fact they have a mission, he would probably fall to the ground. He takes the Guardsman armor from Michael, piling it up in his arms.

"Sitwell's plane is touching down," Tony says. "I'll go get the rig and a couple of stun guns."

"Iron Man?" Michael's voice is soft and apologetic; Tony turns to hear what Michael has to say. "I'm so sorry. I just… I lost control." His eyes scan Iron Man's mask desperately.

"I understand," Tony says, nodding. "I'm probably going to get Mr. Stark to lock the armor away more thoroughly when you're around though. Kittens and hammers, O'Brien."

Michael looks sheepish as Tony turns away.

Behind him, Steve says in a confused tone that Tony probably shouldn't find so cute, "_Kittens_?"

"I broke a really oddly-phrased promise," Michael starts to explain. Tony hurries away, feeling Michael's gaze, both on him _and _the green pieces of armor in his arms.

Tony's off-kilter and he knows it. He can hear Sitwell's plane in the background and increases his pace, heading right for his workspace to lock the Guardsman armor away where Michael can never get to it and freak him out like this again. Tony pushes all his emotions to one side, compartmentalizing like it's his job. Right now, it has to be.

* * *

Michael's still apologizing when Tony returns to the forecourt, the exoskeleton rig in one gauntlet and three of the KOB stun guns in the other. Sitwell gushes when Michael only takes two and Tony loans it the remaining one to the SHIELD agent. Tony's pretty sure that SHIELD wouldn't be able to retro-engineer it safely in a hurry, but he'll also make sure Sitwell gives it back at the end of this fight regardless.

"Seems like there was a general call out to the dark web for John O'Brien's abduction," Sitwell says. "As far as we can tell, only three parties of villains have made a pre-emptive claim for the bounty. The Avengers are on-site. It seems like all three parties are currently in-fighting on the O'Brien residence."

"Dad has a farm," Michael explains. He looks haunted. He's already put the rig on and one of the stun guns is lying over his lap. He keeps tracing the KOB letters engraved on the handle. "The neighbors are some distance out, but..."

"We've sent in some SHIELD teams to evacuate the nearest ones," Sitwell says. "There's one on-site, but the Blood Brothers are keeping them pinned down."

"Yay, my favorite villains," Tony sighs sarcastically. He sinks down further into the seat. There's something especially frustrating about having to repeatedly put down the same bad guys. They need to do something about the prison situation, if supervillains are going to keep coming. The trouble is, a project that big, to keep the villains contained that they've met so far... the resources and money are far past what Tony himself has access to. The problem bugs him occasionally. He hates every single solution he's come up with so far. There's a storm brewing on the horizon, and Tony keeps closing his eyes to it. Something has to give, before he closes his eyes one too many times to the wrong thing.

"Hey, Shellhead," Steve says warmly, nudging him. Tony opens his eyes to see Steve's moved to sit next to him. "Were you deep in thought there or napping? I never know. Do you think your boss would make me a helmet that hid my face? Like… just for meetings?"

Tony side glances at Steve, because first the paperwork, now the meetings? "You… hate meetings too?"

"Ah, I knew you were with me on the meeting thing," Steve says.

Tony panics, thank goodness for masks, because Iron Man doesn't know Steve hates paperwork. _Tony _knows that. Not Iron Man. Thankfully Steve's taken the _too_ for agreement over meetings. And Tony really does hate meetings. "I wish they weren't always derailed by the one person who likes the sound of their own voice."

"Hank's young, he just gets excitable," Steve says, and winks at Tony. Then he sobers. "You know, you don't have to be scared about telling us who you are. You don't have to tell us anything you're not ready to."

Tony takes a long, shuddering breath. Steve's really good at that, changing the mood from light to serious. He's earnest about every matter. Steve puts his hand on Tony's shoulder, heavy enough that Tony can feel the support of the gesture. "There used to be a good reason for it. Now..." Tony exhales. His body feels so heavy all of a sudden. "Now I'm not so sure."

"Whenever you're ready," Steve says, and squeezes his fingers like Tony could feel something like that through the armor. He can't, but the intention warms him regardless.

"We're coming in close," Sitwell calls back to them. Tony startles and looks up to see countryside rapidly approaching and, in the distance, what looks like fire. His skin goes clammy and cold all over.

"We've got this," Steve says, low and reassuring.

Tony nods. He peers out at the scene unfolding below them, and the whole fight feels like a repeat of several older fights, all mashed into one.

There are three main points of conflict: a large group in front of the house; a smaller group with some sort of machine behind the house; and a SHIELD team a little way down the front drive.

"At the back," Steve says to Sitwell, "that look like Deacon and Thumper Morgan to you?"

"Yep," Sitwell says. "They're non-enhanced, but… I don't recognize the machine they have."

"It's one of the discontinued HorganTech diggers," Tony says, recognizing it. "The D40 model. They've been selling them off cheap on the black market because they're so shoddy you can't get any consistent use out of it, anything longer than an hour and they go kaput. Useless for commercial projects, but I guess villains don't care about that. Looks like they've added a drill-attachment to the front."

"Seems to be some sort of security on the main house," Sitwell says. "Guess they're going to try digging under."

"They can try," Steve says, grimly. "O'Brien, stick with me. We're on the team at the back trying to dig under the house. Iron Man—"

"Secure the SHIELD team, then support the rest," Tony surmises.

Steve nods. "Open the door, Sitwell."

"Don't you want me to land first?" Sitwell asks.

Steve grins fiercely, all teeth. "Where's the fun in that?"

Tony laughs as Steve leaps out of the door, two hundred feet straight down without a parachute, aiming right for the middle of the melee. Michael looks at Tony in surprise. Tony resists the urge to get Sitwell to take Michael and fly away fast, and he holds out his arms. Michael wouldn't forgive him for it. "C'mon, I'll fly you down. Unless you need to sit this out. Agent Sitwell will look after you. I promise you, we've got this."

"They're after my dad," Michael says, and stands up, holding the stun gun tightly. "Let's do this."

* * *

Tony deposits Michael behind Steve before immediately jetting off to help Jan. His stomach flips uneasily at the idea of Michael being in danger, but if there's anyone he can trust to keep Michael alive, it's Steve.

Right now, Tony has to provide back-up to an Avenger who really needs some assistance. Jan is in her Wasp form, flitting around and stinging the Blood Brothers, keeping them away from the SHIELD squad cowering behind their own van. She's handling it, but it's a battle of equilibrium rather than progression. With some well-placed repulsor blasts, the tide immediately starts to turn against the Blood Brothers.

"Wasp, separate them," Tony advises, swooping in to bodily push between the two villains. "They're Roclites, symbiotically bonded. The closer they are to each other, the stronger they are. If we can get them apart twenty feet or so, a regular hit will take them down."

"Got it, thanks Iron Man," Jan yells, dropping down so she's at his back, and they both work on separating the two. The SHIELD team manage to assist, launching some sort of electrical weapon at one of the brothers, causing the one Tony's attacking turn in their direction. Tony uses the distraction to loose a full repulsor blast at the ground, sending him backward into the side of a barn; his target slumps to the ground, unconscious. Tony looks over to where Jan is standing full-sized over hers, her fist still in the air.

"Great job, Wasp!" Tony yells, because she can't see his victorious grin. The SHIELD team immediately move in with restraints, thanking them for their help, but his attention is already moving to the other conflicts.

Tony takes a moment to take the scene in, so he can direct his strength where it's best needed. Aquarius, one of the few of the Zodiac squad to not yet wriggle out of their prison sentences, is leading a troop of Zodiac soldiers against the main house, but the doors and windows are blocked by thick metal shutters. Tony grins, because he'd given Kevin the equipment to do it in anticipation for something like this, but he was never quite sure if Kevin had gotten it installed in time. It seems like he had.

Hank and Simon are on the ground, fighting off the Zodiac squad. Clint sits on the roof of the O'Brien house, picking off some of the soldiers with stun arrows and tranquilizer darts. The noise of an explosion rends the air, and then a pillar of smoke rises from behind the house; the HorganTech D40 Digger must have met Captain America in battle and come off decidedly badly.

Jan nods at Tony, she shrinks, and they both fly to join that fight.

It's a long battle, but it's overwhelmingly satisfying. The only real casualty is the digger, the barn wall which has a Roclite-shaped hole in it from Tony's Blood Brother battle, and a few of the zodiac soldiers have sprained ankles and various bruises. They should be damned lucky they're all still alive, Tony thinks. There are any number of things on a farm like this one that could explode and kill them…

Kevin had died like that. One stray missile, one explosion, and that was all it took. Tony's vision swims for a second and he's glad he can lock Iron Man's knees so that he doesn't topple over.

Michael manages to get a call through to his dad's phone, and while he's convincing his dad that it's safe to open up the shutters and come out, Tony heads off to sit somewhere out of the way. Hopefully before John O'Brien sees him.

The last time John O'Brien saw him, it was at Kevin's funeral. Tony was hiding in the suit because he was a coward, and Iron Man was being arrested for Kevin's murder. Awkward didn't really cover it.

Tony finds the main hatch of Sitwell's jet is still open, so he sits down at the edge, right on the floor, not even bothering to fully climb inside. He looks at the dusty ground of the O'Brien's driveway and tries not to think about Kevin's stories about growing up on this farm. Like how Kevin used to lie out in the grass and look up to the stars and dream about flying to space, just in a metal suit. The Guardsman armor could have done that. It would have done that. If Tony hadn't managed to create a goddamned walking death trap.

Tony is about three seconds away from jetting away, or repulsor blasting something into dust, when he hears movement and one of his displays alerts him to a friendly presence.

"_There _you are," Steve says, beaming and sitting down next to him. "That was a pretty satisfying fight for once, huh?"

"Any fight with zero casualties is a good fight," Tony says, nodding. He might feel like destroying something, but he knows not to take it out on someone else. That's for himself, for later.

"Deacon's face when he saw I didn't even have my regular shield..." Steve says. "Ah, you weren't there last time I fought him—it was after I'd taken off the magnetic devices Mr. Stark made me for my shield, but Deacon thought I still had them, and tried to steal the shield from me… his face when it didn't work… it was a picture. Moments like that, you just have to treasure them."

"Is Mr. O'Brien safe?" Tony asks, softly.

"Absolutely," Steve says. "Turns out his son Kevin installed some robust security systems last year. The sensors picked up someone approaching the house with firearms and it basically shuttered the whole place up like it was a building-sized panic room."

"That's good."

"Some of the systems got a bit damaged, though," Steve says. "Maybe you could take a look? I don't know what I'm looking for, but I know you and Hank are smart on technical things, and I—"

"Best not, Cap," Tony says. He stares at the ground, counting the pebbles so his brain has something other to do than screaming. "I'm… not exactly John O'Brien's favorite person."

Steve opens his mouth, probably to protest that, but there's a loud noise, and then a whole lot of shouting that they can't help but overhear.

"You're _working_ for Tony Stark now?" It's been a long time since Tony heard John O'Brien's voice, but he remembers it. His Irish accent is less pronounced than Kevin or Michael, but it's distinct.

"Yes," Michael says, a strong note of defiance in his tone.

Tony bows his head and lets the argument wash over him. Steve closes his mouth but doesn't leave. He's just _there, _a solid and reassuring presence that helps Tony remember which way is down. Gravity is useless when Tony feels like his insides are trying to claw themselves loose from his body. He feels like the Iron Man armor is the only thing still holding his body together.

"The man who got your brother killed?" John's voice drips with disbelief. "The man who couldn't be bothered to even turn up at your brother's funeral, just sent that ugly... damned robot butler of his, who ruined the whole damn thing anyway?"

"Dad, come on," Michael protests. "They came after you to get _me._ I'm the idiot who stated on national television that I knew who Iron Man was. This is on me, not Tony. _Me, _Da. Tony Stark has nothing to do with this."

"Tony Stark has _everything_ to do with this."

"You have no idea. _No idea_ what Tony Stark did for Kevin. What he meant _to_ Kevin. Tony's the only reason Kevin was happy at _all_ before he died," Michael says. "You remember how he was, stuck at the Lakani branch, with that stuffy supervisor who wouldn't let him do anything. He was _miserable._ Tony was the one who saw Kevin for who he was, who gave him a chance when no one else would."

"Someone would have seen his genius eventually—"

"Da, Kevin was a dumbass who couldn't figure out when to keep his mouth shut at the best of times," Michael says, dismissively. "They say don't speak ill of the dead, but that doesn't mean _forget_ their flaws and paint them perfect. Kevin was a hot mess and I loved that boy to pieces, but Kevin's death was an accident. I looked into it myself. Iron Man tried to save him."

"Iron Man is the reason he died. There's a reason the police crashed Kevin's funeral to arrest him. Superhero my _ass._ If Iron Man hadn't intervened, Kevin would be alive right now!"

"If anyone got Kevin killed, it was Kevin. Your golden boy was kind of a dumb-ass." Michael's voice quietens. "I'm starting to figure out which parent we get that from."

"Those fools from SHIELD want a chat," John says, his voice quiet. "If that damn robot of yours is still around, I want him gone by the time I get back from that."

"Da," Michael says. Pleading. Soft.

Tony closes his eyes. He listens to John O'Brien's angry retreat, and when John's gone far enough away, Tony lifts his head and gets ready to launch off. Something stops him, and he turns angrily to see Steve's arm is gripped around his wrist.

"I need to—" Tony starts.

Steve stares at him, with too much kindness in his eyes. "I need to chase up this escape from Ryker's, but I think that would be best done back at the mansion. Will you give me a lift?"

"That's half an hour away if I take you," Tony says, stiffly, hating that Steve's offering him such an easy way out, one that will let him pretend he's not being chased away. "The quinjet can get there in a third of the time."

"I could do with the fresh air." Steve refuses to look away, refuses to let go. Tony's eyes are burning. "C'mon, Shellhead. I know how much you like flying. Let me just tell Jan where we're going."

Tony stares for a long moment. Steve's face is so close. It makes it easier to nod when he can't see anything of the world but Steve. Tony feels so lost, and yet, he's tethered to something stronger than that terrible voice in his head. The voice that is trying to tell him that John O'Brien is right to hate him so much.

Steve lifts up his identicard, obviously not risking Tony making a run for it—Iron Man's often a flight risk. "Wasp, hey, Iron Man and I are going back to the mansion. Can you take point on the clean-up?"

"Sure, Cap," Jan chirps, not even questioning the decision. "We'll see you there later."

* * *

Tony takes them the most direct route, even though he usually deviates when he's in the air. He just wants to run away. There's too much going on in his head. He wants to bury himself in some code, or maybe in designing a new Iron Man mask. He has some ideas about increasing the cognitive load of the Guardsman helmet.

Still, he has to drop Steve off first, so Tony lowers them both gently to the roof of the mansion. Steve looks happy enough. The new suit looks like it's in good shape, but the prototype shield is thoroughly bashed. Field tests are always the best kind of tests anyway; Tony usually prefers to test his own tech like that.

"I should get back to SI. Do you want me to take the shield back to Mr. Stark?" Tony asks, holding a hand out towards Steve.

Steve looks at the shield he's carrying and the unfamiliar shape of it, and then he blinks. "Oh. Oh, I was just going to take it back round to him myself. The suit's his too."

"Okay," Tony says. "Well… I'll see you later." He looks up to gauge the sky. It's already getting dark. He hopes he can finish everything on his urgent list before sunrise.

"Do you have to go already?" Steve asks, his voice sounding plaintive.

"There's too much to do. Sorry."

"Does Mr. Stark force you to work the same hours he does? Because his workload is unreasonable, it worries me."

"He doesn't force me to do anything," Tony says. "I need to work."

Steve stares at him. "Have you had a day off to yourself in the last few days? How about an _hour_?"

Tony's silence is damning.

"Then _why,_" Steve says, "are you working so hard? I know Mr. Stark a little now, I think, and he'd be the first to tell you to take a break. Even if he's probably the last person on the damn planet to take one, next to you."

Tony is too tired to shuffle guiltily, but the urge is there. "I think Tony Stark… and Iron Man… work hard for the same reason," he says, slowly. "If I stop working, then my brain doesn't have anything to shut it up. And I really—I really need to not hear my own thoughts right now."

Steve stares at him. "I should have thought earlier. Shellhead, I'm so sorry."

Tony blinks. What?

Steve moves in closer and puts both of his hands on Tony's shoulders. His smile is soft and sad all at once. "I should have thought that today would dredge up those terrible memories. It was an accident, Iron Man. It really was an accident. You were just trying to protect Kevin. You couldn't have known that tank would have exploded."

"I should have," Tony says, staring at Steve hopelessly. His eyes burn hot. "I didn't work directly on the Aero-tank, but I'd been involved, I should have known the fuel tank—"

"Sshh. What-ifs and _should have _are always going to plague us. We can't let words like that get too far under our skin. I think we're always going to be guilty about the people who we've lost, who we should have saved… Some nights I can't sleep at all, just running over the name of everyone during the war I couldn't help. That maybe I could have helped, if I'd been a bit faster, if I'd been a bit stronger… You can't listen to that voice. It'll drive you mad. We do our best at the time, with what we have, with all that we have. I know you did."

"I know technically that you're right and it's the same thing I'd have said to anyone else, but..."

"Yeah, I think if forgiving ourselves was easy, there'd be less superheroes in the world," Steve laughs ruefully. "Would you mind answering a somewhat personal question? Just something I was wondering about. It's okay if you don't want to."

"What is it?" Tony asks, even though the idea makes him freeze inside, because what if Steve wants to know who he is?

"Kevin and Mr. Stark were best friends, and with your position as Mr. Stark's bodyguard and all your work at _Stark International _with Mr. Stark… It didn't strike me to ask earlier, but... Were you and Kevin friends, too?"

Tony inhales sharply. He can't speak. He lets himself nod tersely instead.

Steve nodded like he was expecting that. In a softer voice he asks, "Have you given yourself time to grieve since it happened?"

"I've tried," Tony says, possibly in a quieter voice than Steve's, even if the modulator broadcasts it at the usual volume. "I think I'm going to miss Kevin O'Brien every day of my life. And there's nothing I can do it make up for him being gone, but Kevin..." It's been so hard to say his name, but with Steve here, holding his shoulders, keeping him grounded, it's easier. "Kevin saved my life once. So every life _I_ manage to save from now on… In a way, that's him saving them. That's the best I can do for him."

Steve pulls him in closer, wrapping his arms around Tony's back, tugging him in close. Tony rests his head on Steve's shoulder and lets himself shake.

"I miss him," Tony admits. "I miss him so damn much."

"He'd be so proud of you," Steve says, in his ear. "You just helped save his dad's life. That's one more life on his legacy."

There's a lump in Tony's throat that doesn't let him reply for a long moment. A sound from afar finally breaks the moment, and Tony's grateful for it as he steps back and coughs.

Steve looks at him questioningly. "What is it?"

Tony points up into the air and Steve's mouth wrinkles as he realizes what's going on.

"It's the quinjet," Tony says. He eyeballs Steve as the plane lowers down and they both step away from the landing point. "I told you that would be faster."

Steve grins. "But flying with you is always more fun."

"Even though we nearly got assaulted by a flock of pigeons."

"They were friendly pigeons," Steve says, shrugging.

"Hey, Iron Man!" Clint grins as he exits the plane first. "Nice work back there."

"You too," Tony says. "I gotta get back to work, though. Sorry I can't stick around. Is Michael with you?"

"Stayed back with his dad for now," Clint explains. "Simon's staying with them while they get everything sorted out. But we've got the exoskeleton and the stun guns."

"Lock them in the mansion armory," Tony says. "I'm sure Mr. Stark would prefer you had access to them."

"Nice, I wanted to have a go with the stun guns, they looked fun," Clint says. "Do you think the shooting range would handle them?"

Tony thinks about it. "Put it through one of Wanda's routines, she has the reinforced targets."

"Sweet," Clint says.

"Cap not going with you?" Jan asks, hopping down the ramp with a grin. "He's been pretty fond of heading that way recently."

"There've been plenty of reasons to," Steve says, narrowing his eyes at Jan.

"Sure there is," Jan chirps and bounds over to him, kissing him quickly on the cheek. "And what Sitwell told us about you and Mr. Stark has _nothing_ to do with it at all."

"What about Cap and Mr. Stark?" Hank asks, exiting the quinjet last, lifting the ramp up behind him and heading to the lever to lower the quinjet back into the mansion via the deployment hatch.

"That Sitwell went to Steve's personal apartment and found Steve and Tony Stark looking _very_ cozy over breakfast," Jan says, in a somewhat salacious tone that makes it sound dirty.

"It was just breakfast," Steve mutters. His cheeks are pink, probably from the windburn, but it makes his defense look shady. "He was fixing my identicard."

"Oh, fixing your _identicard,_" Clint says. "Is that what they're calling it nowadays?"

"Wait, no, Mr. Stark fixes my identicards all the time, I don't approve of this as innuendo," Hank grumbles.

"And that reminds me, we need to have a word about the number of times you do damage your identicard," Steve says.

"I feel like Cap's deliberately deflecting the topic," Jan says, sing-song.

"I'm gonna go," Tony says, pointing up in the sky.

"If you get any of this dating gossip out of your boss, let us know," Clint calls, grinning at Steve delightedly.

Steve folds his arms and glares at Clint. "Don't you have a report to write?" he grits out.

Tony feels a little nauseated. His evening and morning with Steve suddenly feels like a private memory that's being intruded on. The Avengers can be terrible gossips, Tony's just never really had it directed at _himself _before. It's oddly uncomfortable.

"I'm going to go before Clint gets us assigned _double_ reports," Tony yells, before quickly backing off and takes a running leap, jetting back off into the sky before he hears any more about himself.


	11. Chapter 11

The best of me then when no longer visible—for

toward that I have been incessantly preparing.

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

Tony tells himself he's not disappointed when Michael turns up at _Stark International_ for his now-weekly brain scan and it's Hank escorting him. It's not like Hank can hide his fur, but he's put on a trench coat and a hat in pretense to normality, and is even wearing pants. It's progress.

He sent passes with Michael for all of them a couple of weeks ago, just in case any of them felt they needed to bring him in past security. Now Tony thinks he probably should have sent platinum passes for all of them. The standard black pass still gets them to administration and the cafeteria, but if they see Steve has higher clearance, they might get suspicious that Sitwell's stupid gossiping was right. Tony's worried on Steve's behalf, because it's unfair that he's been linked with Tony in any way. Steve deserves so much more than to even be erroneously linked to Tony's orbit.

Well, Tony's sure they'll figure out their own mistake soon enough. Steve's probably already put them straight.

He meets Hank and Michael in Pepper's office, because he's gone a little old-school with his workshop security since Michael blasted a hole through the door. Only Tony can get in or out of his workshop at the moment, until he has time to get more sophisticated with his security again. Pepper barely even blinks at the sight of Hank's fuzzy chest as he ambles into her office.

"We'll be downstairs if you need anything," Tony tells her. She nods.

Tony shields the panel with his hands as he types in his entry code, and Michael looks sheepish when the door slides open, realizing why Tony's being less open with him. Tony doesn't want Michael to feel too bad, but he can't risk him taking the armor again. He doesn't like how quickly the Guardsman armor drove him insane this time around.

"It's nice of you to bring Michael," Tony says to Hank as they walk down the stairs. Hank's picking his way down carefully, his feet too big for steps designed for Iron Man's tread at most.

"Uh, well, I was gonna drop him off at the front door, but then I remembered you sent us those nice passes, and Michael said lunch here was good, and IreallywantedachancetoproperlysayagainhowsorryIam," Hank finishes, in a rush.

Tony frowns and turns to stare at Hank. "What was that last bit?"

Hank shuffles his weight awkwardly side to side and he can't quite look Tony in the eye. "I… Well, I just, I… reallywantedachancetoproperlysayagainhowsorryIam..."

Tony has a clue of what Hank is trying to say, and he's not going to let him get away with a mumbled apology. Even if it's a better attempt than anything Tony can manage. Tony is a complex person, okay?

"Hank," Tony says slowly, staring at him until Hank sheepishly meets his gaze properly. "Let's have that in English, please."

Hank frowns, then sags, and wrings his hands. "I just… I wanted to apologize for that, uh. The strangling incident. When I tried to strangle you. You remember?"

Tony squints at him. "Yeah, I kind of remember something like that. Some of the details are a little hazy."

"Haha, uh, yeah. I'm really sorry. Cap says I've got a bit of an anger management problem. I think it's more of an impulse disorder, but… you don't care, all you need to know is I'm not going to do it again. And I'm not. I'm really sorry."

Tony stares, flummoxed at the apology. "It's fine," he says, slowly, even if the few hours he's grabbed of sleep recently might have had a few asphyxiation-themed nightmares in them. "I absolutely understand how it happened and I accept your apology."

"If I can do anything to—"

"Hank, I got it," Tony forces a smile. "We all make mistakes. In fact, I'm several _hundred_ mistakes ahead of you in life, I've always been an over-achiever. So calm down, and let's move on, okay? I'm a big fan of pretending things never happened." He claps Hank on the back in a friendly motion.

Hank's eyes go a little moist, but he nods gratefully, and then he side-glances at Tony with a more speculative expression. "Now we're chill, would you maybe give me some tips on how to hook up with girls? The papers say you're pretty good at that—"

"We're chill," Tony says, "but we're not that chill yet."

Hank shrugs expansively. "Worth a try." He glances around the room appreciatively. "Nice digs you have here." He nods over at the Iron Man armor creation chamber. "That Shellhead's next duds, huh?"

"Just a small upgrade on the current model, really," Tony says. "Working on some of the lag in the integrated circuitry near the main gyro, improving the refractory coating."

"Nice," Hank says, approvingly.

Michael's leaning against one of the worktops like he's just used to Tony ignoring him whenever another Avenger is in range. Engineering problems aren't the only thing that cause Tony's tunnel vision to increase.

"Hi boss," Michael says, when he sees Tony's finally looking his way.

"Hello, Michael. How have you been doing with the exoskeleton?" Tony asks. "Any fixes or tune-ups needed on that?"

"I'm working on it still," Michael says. He looks at Tony speculatively. "There's still half of the things you did when you were showing me how it worked that I can't even _slightly_ do. Are you _sure_ you were in the same model?"

"Positive," Tony says. "You'll get there with practice. How many hours would you say you've logged in it so far?"

"Maybe two hundred," Michael guesses.

"Another eighteen weeks, you'll be leaping around like a champ," Tony says, winking because he knows that's not reassuring at all.

"You can use that thing Mike wears?" Hank says, pulling a face. "Do you fall over as much as he does?"

Tony laughs. "Not anymore."

"I'd almost pay to see that," Hank says. "Except I doubt I could afford you."

"Well, you'll have to remain disappointed regardless, Captain America doesn't want me anywhere near the mansion anyway," Tony says, trying not to sound too sore about it still. It's been over a month now. He needs to let the resentment go. He isn't strong enough. It's better that he's not there. "He's made that clear."

"I thought you two were dating?" Michael says, his mouth wrinkling like he's suppressing a laugh.

Tony sighs. "Sitwell is a nosy moron who misinterpreted a friendly _working_ breakfast. That's all."

"It'd be more believable if I didn't come into a room that weekly shows evidence that his usual breakfast is a coffee IV," Michael says to Hank, winking conspiratorially.

"Hey, I have enough problems with my own dating situation at the moment," Hank sighs. "I don't need to spend a _single_ one of my precious braincells on someone _else's_ love life."

"There's no love life here," Tony says. "Believe me, if I could figure out this problem, maybe I'd have time. But right now, this thing is _kicking my ass_."

Hank perks up. "Can I have a look?"

Tony looks at him skeptically. "You know anything about noological causal learning forcibly changing effective causality to _affective_ causality?"

"Quirk in your rapid unsupervised effective causal chains, huh?" Hank tilts his head. "What are your diachronic and synchronic components?"

"I feel like you're speaking English," Michael says slowly, "and yet it all sounds Latverian to me."

"Is this subroutine accelerating the chain?" Hank jabs a blue finger at the screen.

Tony shakes his head. "The conscious processor is supposed to transfer the impulse to immediate memory and then into long-term, but it's diverting through—"

"—oh right, no, I see that. How did you solve the friction in—"

"Iron-selenium alloy as a superconductor, allows the signal to pass at a higher temperature without any resistance or loss."

"Nice," Hank says, moving to stand and peer at the screen, shoulder-to-shoulder with Tony.

"...or I could just stand here like I'm not even here," Michael sighs.

"Sorry, Michael, let's get you in the Cement Mixer," Tony says.

Hank looks up from the code at the brain-scanning rig, realizes what it is and frowns. "You need to get better at naming things, Stark."

"I don't think _Iron Man_ is too bad a name," Tony says as he helps Michael into the rig.

"How much iron is actually _in_ Iron Man," Hank points out.

"Well, okay, maybe you have a point," Tony admits, as he gets the brain scan going again. "Better than the original name I tried to give him."

"Wait, it wasn't always Iron Man?"

"It used to be the Human Machine," Tony admits.

"So who came up with Iron Man?" Hank asks, staring at the code in fascination.

"One of the guys in the audience of the, uh, the first incident where Iron Man saved lives," Tony says, only narrowly remembering not to say _my_ first incident. "Guess the name sort of stuck."

"Well, I guess it's more imaginative than _Beast,_" Hank says, making a rueful face.

"I like it," Tony says, moving back to the main monitor to see that Hank's pulled up one of the sub-routines. "Very Disney. And one thing I do know, ladies dig Disney."

"I thought you said we weren't chill enough to be giving me any wooing tips," Hank says.

Tony flashes him a toothy grin. "I guess this means your science is cool."

Hank shakes his head at the pun. "The Captain said that O'Brien wore the Guardsman armor a second time," Hank says, slowly scrolling down the code thoughtfully. "You have the suit readings from that?"

"Yeah," Tony says, and leans over to bring them up. "It presents like extreme paranoia in both cases, but with Michael, it's much more obvious that it's activating the limbic system but somehow entirely bypassing the amygdala, which is ridiculous."

"It's not just bypassing, it's excluding it completely," Hank points out. "What are O'Brien's brain readings right now?"

Tony hums and brings up the current feed. Hank thinks about it and then reaches around the worktop to kick Michael in the thigh, hard.

"Hey!" Michael yelps. "What was that for?"

"_Science,_" Hank says. "Yeah, that's what I thought." He points at the right cross-sections. "That kick made his whole limbic system light up like the fourth of July."

"But when he was in the Guardsman armor the amygdala was completely blank," Tony says slowly. "Something about my interface is triggering the HPA axis in place of the amygdala."

"And if I had to guess, something about your code and cybernetic interaction is adversely hitting the entorhinal cortext functions too,"Hank says. "Look at the delay between the prefontal cortex and the hippocampus—"

"Let's set up a simulation where I try forcing a re-direct in the cybernetic system protocols," Tony says, fingers moving rapidly now he has a new path to try exploring. "Loop it back into the initial relay, bypass the secondary causal build, and set an affective limit..."

"It's probably not going to fix anything," Hank says, apologetically. "My arena's more genetics than anything."

"A new angle is a new angle," Tony says, distractedly, setting up a separate test environment and setting up a simulation designed to narrow down the best area to start re-directing the protocols. He sits back after ten minutes and sighs. The simulation is going to take a few hours to even bring back partial results. Michael's scan has twenty minutes left on it. He side glances at Hank.

"I should go," Hank says, awkwardly. "I was just supposed to make sure Michael got to you, not hang around, I—"

"Hey, no, it's fine," Tony says, holding his hands up. "You're welcome. Any time. I mean, most of the time I'm really busy or stuck in a meeting." He glances up at the clock. "Unfortunately I have to go to one after Michael's scan is finished, or I'd give you the tour." He pulls a face. "As much of a tour as there is considering what Midas did."

"That butthead," Hank sniffs, folding his arms in displeasure and sinking into the nearest chair.

"Michael's been messing up _all _your vocabulary," Tony says.

"Hell-fucking-yes I have," Michael crows, delighted. "Jan called me a motherfucker last night. _Jan_."

"It was pretty funny," Hank admits.

Tony's chest hurts a little and he surreptitiously checks his phone to see the status of his powercells. They're holding steady at 93% charge, all systems correct. He exhales carefully so Hank doesn't pick up on his emotional over-reaction. The fact Michael gets to hang out at the Avengers mansion and not him is affecting him more deeply than he expected. It's ridiculous. He can go as Iron Man any time he wants. If he misses them, he can see them. There's no problem.

"Hey, while you're here, can I use your internet?" Hank asks.

Tony squints at him. "Sure. Just use the monitor over there, unless it's private and I can get you the staff wi-fi password from Pepper. I usually let her deal with that."

"Oh, I just need to plan a route back to the mansion," Hank says. "I forgot to do it before we left the mansion, and Cap'll have my hide if I don't vary the route home."

"Why do you need to do that?" Tony blinks. "I can just get Happy to drive you home if you want."

"Yes, let's do that," Michael says.

"Walking is fine," Hank says.

"Not the distance you thought was okay," Michael says. "It was like, ten miles."

"Ten miles is nothing," Hank says.

"For someone with super-enhanced physicality it's great. For an ex-Cop living off takeout because no one at the mansion can cook, it's not so fun," Michael grouches.

"Well, that just makes it _more_ of a good idea to walk some of it," Hank tells him.

Tony pulls out his phone. "I'm ordering you a car for today. You should have said. Does Cap make you walk that far too?"

"No, everyone else takes the bus or a train the whole way," Michael says.

Tony glances at them. "Is there a reason to be so cautious?"

"Apparently there's still a bounty on my head," Michael sighs. "Even though everyone knows now I'm not Iron Man, there's footage they keep playing on the local cable news that someone got of the attack on my dad's house, you can _clearly_ see me _and_ Iron Man at the same time on the same screen, so I don't see why I'm still such a target."

"Because you were the dumbass who announced that he _knew who Iron Man was_," Hank says. "That makes you as much a target as anyone. Besides, we know you've been followed—"

"What?" Tony interrupts, sharply. "You've been followed by someone? And you didn't tell me?"

"Whoops," Hank says, pulling a face.

"Cap said not to tell you," Michael says. His face is still half-obscured by the Cement Mixer (goodness, there really does need to be a better name for that), but Tony can see enough of it to recognize the guilt in his expression. "He said you had enough to worry about."

Tony resists the urge to wallop his face into the nearest desk. Preferably repeatedly, so he loses consciousness for at least a week. "How did you all miss the fact that I'm _Tony Stark._"

"I wouldn't say we missed it," Hank says, frowning. "Your name is on the building and everything, and your face is in the papers a lot."

"And I've been under threat of kidnapping _every day since I was born,_" Tony says, waving his arms dramatically. "You think I was allowed to jet all over the world from the age of fifteen _without_ appropriate security measures?"

"Well, you have Iron Man now," Hank says. "I guess we just assumed _he's_ your security system."

"If I had to rely on Iron Man to keep me safe, I'd be in trouble," Tony says. "C'mon, while he's strapped down, let's inject O'Brien with something fun."

"_What?" _Michael blurts.

After a fun minute of teasing, Michael realizes it's just a tracking device that goes under the skin, Tony admits he has one too (although he refuses to admit where it's injected), and Michael grudgingly agrees to let Tony put one in his back. Tony shows Hank how to track it on his phone, and inputs the instructions, so at least now they can track Michael if he's taken.

"It's weird to consider you've had to think about this your whole life," Hank says.

"Contingencies upon contingencies," Tony says, shrugging. "I either figure it out, or I live my entire life in a locked room."

"Um, sometimes you still do the latter," Michael points out.

Tony frowns, because it's too accurate. "I'm a work-in-progress," he says. He eyeballs them speculatively. "Seriously, between the six of you, _none_ of you came up with the ideal solution? Not a _single one of you_?"

Hank stares at him, confused. Michael falls silent too.

"You have a submarine under the mansion," Tony says, slowly. "One that's already built to move without notice. We're near the water? And you have an undetectable craft?"

"Oh, man," Hank says, scratching his chest fur with a blank expression. "Huh. I'll let the others know about that idea."

"Good plan," Tony says.

"Still wish you could show me some of those fancier exoskeleton moves personally," Michael sighs. "I keep trying to describe the ones you showed me in the combat room, but I'm not sure I can."

Tony's shoulders tense unhappily. "I'm not going to oppose Captain America's wishes."

"Then how about you show Michael those moves here?" Hank tilts his head. "You have great security systems. I read all the briefings and none of your employees got seriously hurt, even with eighty of Midas' soldiers on-site, and forty of those Mechanoid things? And you have Iron Man on site. If I'm with you, you and Michael could easily try out whatever it is Michael's talking about, and I'm sure you have testing rooms here."

Tony frowns. "Yeah, of course. That's where I developed the exoskeleton to start with."

"Great," Hank says. "You find a time and date where we can do it, we'll hop in the submarine, and we'll do it here. Even if Iron Man's not as reliable a bodyguard as Cap's happy with, if I'm there, it doesn't matter. I'm an _excellent_ bodyguard."

"Even if you shed everywhere," Tony says.

"Aw, you need some color around here," Hank says unrepentantly, casually brushing some of his bright blue fur from the chair he's sat on. "It's so gloomy."

"Thanks for your critique of my interior décor, Hank, very helpful," Tony mutters.

* * *

Hank and Michael stop to talk to Pepper at the end of their brief visit.

When Pepper finds out that they want to borrow Tony for something that combines physical activity with social interaction, it doesn't matter that Tony makes desperate _not that important_ gestures behind their heads. Pepper immediately slots them in for a two-hour gap in his schedule that Tony had reserved for a possible meeting with the head of the Pittsburgh branch of SI.

Pepper cheerfully tells him that Lila has gone into labor so the meeting's had to be delayed anyway, unless Tony wants to retract his maternity leave guidelines. Tony sighs and skulks off, because arguing with Pepper is a waste of his precious time. He cheers himself up by sending Lila a whole bunch of balloons to her hospital room, and a giant cuddly Iron Man plush for the baby. He sends it with a note as if it's from _Stark International_ and not as _Tony Stark, _because Tony likes to think his business reputation probably wouldn't be so strong if the world knew how quickly he went slightly crazy around babies. They're cute. And soft. And warm. And cuddly. And dammit, he would want a thousand of his own if he thought for a second he wouldn't fuck them up completely.

* * *

Tony nearly forgets the exoskeleton thing is even happening at all until Michael sends him a message saying simply that he's "looking forward to it".

Tony loses a minute staring into space, because he can't remember scheduling another brain-scan for Michael, and surely Michael wouldn't enjoy that sort of thing… When he remembers what _it _is, he buzzes Pepper on the intercom to try and get her to agree it would be a waste of time. She just reminds him to stretch properly and hydrate, and also to get Michael to stop by R&D for a brief questionnaire, because the researchers on the project want some information from someone who's tried the rig on a more long-term basis. Tony promises he'll ask Michael and hangs up.

Tony has some time before Michael and Hank are due to get there, and because Pepper's been efficiently moving his schedule around, he has two hours spare for once. He eyeballs his mattress in its new frame suspiciously, like he knows a ninety-minute nap would probably do him good, but he feels a little anxious about being outside of his workshop later, so he puts the Iron Man armor on to do a quick sweep of the facility.

It makes him feel better, hovering up high over the buildings, to see how the repairs are doing. It also helps him see the facility like a villain might, to help him pick out potential landing spots for larger vehicles, like the _Phrygia_. That gives him an idea about using the reverse magnetism in his armor on a grander scale. A series of satellite dishes on the roof of his tallest buildings could create a net that could cause trouble for a ship trying to land on his grounds again.

Tony does a lazy loop overheard, waving at a few of his security guys, before looping back and directly walking into the administration building.

"Good morning, Iron Man," Pepper greets him, a wry smirk to his face. "You having a good day so far?"

She always treats Tony in his armor like he's still a separate person. Tony appreciates it. It helps him delineate the lie.

"Absolutely, Mrs. Potts-Hogan," Tony says. "Thank you for clearing the schedule for this afternoon. Is engineering aware that testing lab 2 will be out of bounds for a couple of hours?"

"They are," Pepper says. "I double-checked this morning."

"Thank you," Tony says, nodding at her, and heading for his workshop door to key in the code.

"Remind Mr. Stark for me that he needs to eat lunch," Pepper says, sweetly beaming at him when he glances back.

Tony glowers, but he's still wearing the mask so the effect is wasted. "He'll be right up," he sighs.

It's apparently Happy's turn to babysit him over lunchtime, which Tony's glad of, because Happy doesn't mind if Tony sits and doodles while they eat. Happy rambles about paint shades, because he and Pepper can't decide what color their new kitchen should be. He doesn't chide Tony when he draws plans for his satellite net over his napkin, and then, when he runs out of room, Happy's napkin too. Tony snaps a photo of his doodles before obliterating one of the sketches by wiping away gravy from his face, and Happy blows his nose into the other one, which Tony hopes isn't a pre-emptive sign of how good his new security idea is.

Happy walks him back to his workshop, and Tony almost thinks it's him being overprotective until he realizes Happy's saved his cookie to take to Pepper. His chest aches a little as he sees Pepper smile at him. It's not that old longing for Pepper which sometimes grazes some of their encounters. It's envy. Envy that even in the middle of all this chaos, and all the terror, they've managed to find happiness.

Tony wants to be happy. He's just not sure he's ever really going to earn it for himself.

"I'll be downstairs," Tony says, as a brief genuflection to polite social response, and quickly excuses himself.

He still has an hour to kill, so that means paperwork, because he can't lose himself in paperwork as easily as he can when tinkering or inventing or trying to fix damaged code. That lasts about three minutes, because Tony makes the mistake of pulling out the tablet to digitally sign off on some requisitions for plastics, and his CAD program is only one thumb press away. Tony finds himself sketching out a detailed design for the satellite net, and thank goodness for Pepper, because Tony would swear he's only been designing for maybe ten minutes when the intercom flashes on.

Tony removed the command needed for him to accept the call a couple of weeks ago, and Pepper's voice startles him out of his zone.

"Tony, your 2pm appointment is here," Pepper says. "Um, do you want to come up to greet them?"

"Sure," Tony says, lowering the tablet and blinking in surprise at the clock. "I'll be right there."

As Tony stands up, his shoulders and back protest audibly; when he gets into the zone, he barely moves, and that's not good for him. He makes a mental note to drop in on R&D and get them to design him some sort of ergonomic chair that forces him to move at intervals. He tried the sitting-ball thing once, but Kevin just laughed himself silly when Tony fell off three times in a row.

Tony feels dizzy for a moment, so he pushes aside the thought of Kevin laughing at him, and forces himself to move. He quickly swaps his shirt and tie for a _Stark International_ t-shirt. The chestplate is visible so he throws a SI hoodie over the top for when he's outside, then he hurries up the stairs. He presses his palm against the reader to open the door, and opens his mouth to say hi to Michael and Hank, only to come face to face with more people than he was expecting.

Namely, all the Avengers.

Pepper looks a little poleaxed. She knows who Steve is now, and Hank is unmistakably blue. Jan never covers her face as the Wasp. It must be easy, then, for Pepper to realize who Simon and Clint are. Michael's there too, his distinctive red hair a good match to Pepper's own. Tony's gut lurches with a weird feeling of _we're all together, I like that_ and he pushes that feeling away.

It's when he's too comfortable that he makes slips. He's still not ready to tell them he's Iron Man. He's tempted to, in the brief second they all look his way and every single one of them smiles at the sight of him.

"This is a nice surprise," Tony says, carefully.

"We heard there might be a contest," Jan says cheerfully. "Thought we might come and place outrageous bets on who's gonna win."

"It wasn't supposed to be a contest," Tony says, eyeballing Michael.

"They're all weirdly competitive, what can I say," Michael says, holding his hands up.

"Pep, I'm going to take my… consultants here over to the testing labs. They're here to give advice on the exoskeleton rigs for veterans," Tony says.

"Right," Pepper says, tapping away at her keyboard like this is a normal Friday, and her office isn't full of people she has to know are superheroes in their civilian guises.

"Don't disturb me unless it's an emergency, but do remind me of my next appointment," Tony instructs, proud of her ability to stay calm.

"Yes, sir," Pepper says. "I'll send Happy to fetch you if you don't respond to the intercom."

"Don't know what I'd do without you, Pep," Tony beams.

"Suffer, probably," Pepper tells him with a wink. "Make sure he behaves, O'Brien."

"Will do, boss," Michael says, saluting her as they start to leave.

"Wait, I thought Tony was the boss?" Clint asks.

"In any Fortune 500 company, it's always the CEO's secretary who holds the real power, trust me," Tony says. "Come on, I'll show you the way."

He leads the Avengers out of the administration block. There's still building work going on, and they're mostly undisturbed on the way to the testing labs. There's an exoskeleton rig in the safe there ready for him to pick up, and a few stun guns in a small armory (Tony has them installed throughout his compound now, genetically coded to open only for himself and his security teams.) Tony's inventions are probably always going to be a target. He can't let the threat of it being stolen or subverted stop him from trying to improve the future. No matter how many times he gets knocked back. Tony needs _Stark International_ to be as invincible as its most essential protector.

"Your assistant was pretty cool considering she has to have figured out who we were," Jan says to Tony as they walk through the compound. "I like her."

Tony grins briefly. "I suppose when you're used to seeing Iron Man every day, everything else pales in comparison." He holds up his hands. "Not that I'm biased, or anything."

"Hmm," Jan says. "If I was in uniform, I might have had a chance at turning her head."

"I have to admit I'm surprised you're all here," Tony says, because Jan's probably right—Pepper is pretty fond of the Wasp, out of all the Avengers. He wonders if one day Pepper would want a flying suit of her own. She might not be too pleased. He shelves the idea away. He can't think of designing an armor for anyone until he's figured out the Guardsman problem. He probably will still think about it. He doesn't think his brain has an off-switch.

"Well, Hank insisted you said he had to be here," Jan says. "And obviously Michael does, because he's the one training with the exoskeleton. Someone had to pilot the submarine, and I'm the best for that. Clint heard the food here was good, and Simon didn't want to be left out."

"No, _I _said I wanted to ask Tony about my idea for a defensive concussive device," Simon says. "_Cap_ is the one who looked like a drowned puppy when we suggested coming without him."

"I just didn't want them to be unruly and cause you more trouble," Steve mutters, glancing sheepishly at Tony.

"Ah, admit it, you all just missed me," Tony says jokingly, except the laughs he expects to follow don't come. When he glances in confusion at Steve, Steve shrugs at him with a _I told you so_ sort of expression on his face.

Jan leans over and briefly puts her arm around his back. "We do miss you, Tony. Even when you don't tell us important things." She raps gently on his shoulder, her knuckles grazing the hard metal of his chestplate in illustration, before she backs away, giving him some space. Probably realizing by the way his face crumples that he needs it.

"Well, considering Simon's reason for coming… I could probably make something for Clint with a concussive blast," Tony muses. "I don't think it would count as defensive enough; thermobaric weapons tend to rupture lungs. They're pretty nasty. I could maybe tone down the blast, see what sort of results we could get."

"Aw, but why Clint?" Simon demands. "It's my idea."

"It would have to be a projectile, or you'd blow your own eardrums out," Clint says. "And if one went off in my hand, it'd be better it was me." He taps at his ear in illustration.

Simon sags. "I could shoot a bow and arrow," he mumbles. "Like it's difficult. You point and shoot."

"That's what she said," Hank laughs.

"You and me, target range, tomorrow," Clint says. "I'll give you _difficult_."

"How did you get here today?" Tony asks, feeling like he needs to step in and diffuse the tension before the two start fighting right there. "I'm having a hard time picturing you all on public transport."

"Hank and Michael had a great idea," Simon says. "Do you remember the submarine in the sub-basement at the mansion?"

"Hank and Michael had that idea, huh?" Tony says, eyeballing them both. "What a _superb _idea. The person who came up with that idea must be a _genius_."

Hank and Michael exchange a sheepish look.

"Well, you know what they say, Stark," Hank says. "Some of us have beauty, some of us have brains."

"Did he just call me beautiful?" Tony asks Simon in a conversational tone. "Huh. I'd always suspected I was everyone's type."

"Eh, you already know you're pretty, Stark," Clint says, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "That's why you're dating our fearless leader, he's _Captain America,_ he deserves to date someone beautiful."

"Clint," Steve says, in a low warning tone.

"You're hilarious, birdbrain," Tony says. "C'mon, let's hurry up so we can enjoy O'Brien falling on his ass a whole bunch before I have to get to my next meeting."

"Hey!" Michael yells in protest, but increases his pace with the rest of them.

Tony uses his pass to get them into the training room, and he heads to the locker to pull out the exoskeleton rig for himself as Michael pulls his out of a rucksack on his back. He drops his hoodie on the floor and starts to put the rig on.

"Make yourself at home," Tony tells the Avengers, and he glances around. The testing lab doesn't have much in it for a reason. The walls are reinforced for explosions. The only reason Midas managed to blow up so much of it was that he'd only stress-tested it to survive one Iron Man's amount of repulsor blasts. Midas' Mechanoids might have been severely flawed, but the stolen and copied repulsor tech was nearly as strong as Tony's own. Several of the Mechanoids must have concentrated their fire on this building to knock the original one down.

This newer version is twenty times as strong as the one that came before it, and Tony can identify with that. Sometimes that's the good thing about being knocked down. Every moment of potential destruction can kill you, but sometimes it just makes you stronger. Sometimes it's actually what you need, in order to discover your weaknesses.

And sometimes it just pisses you off, Tony thinks, eyeballing the ugly color of the ceiling as he quickly stretches, because he hadn't had time to approve the new color schemes. He guesses they already _did _have a surfeit of neon green paint, but to use it on a _ceiling_?

"This floor is not exactly comfortable," Simon sighs, leaning against the wall and looking peeved.

"I wasn't exactly anticipating having an audience," Tony says, squinting at the assembled Avengers.

"Just pretend we're not here," Jan calls out, encouragingly. "You're doing great!"

"We haven't done anything yet," Tony says.

"I'm enjoying the warm-up," Jan says, with a flirtatious wink.

"Yeah?" Tony wiggles his butt in her direction just to make her laugh, and it works. "Okay, O'Brien, what did you want to cover?" Tony asks. He bends his knees experimentally. He feels ready to move.

"Everything," Michael says, squinting at him uncertainly. He puts his hands on his hips and shuffles. "I can do individual moves, but putting them together is causing me some difficulties."

Tony sighs. "Fine, tag me."

"Huh?"

Tony grins, and that's all the warning he gives Michael, darting in and tapping him on the cheek twice with two fingers before he darts backwards. He springs into an easy backflip, sticking the landing with ease before holding out his hand in a beckoning motion. "Two fingers, double-tap on the face for one point. First to twenty points wins."

Michael realizes what the game is and lunges. He's definitely getting the hang of it, because he presses his weight into the leap and it's an impressive jump. Tony quickly pivots and deftly ducks, rolls, and leans up. He double taps Michael on the forehead.

"Second point to me," Tony says, easily somersaulting out of the way.

"Ten bucks says Michael rallies," Simon says.

"No way, ten bucks on Stark," Clint says, reaching out and fistbumping Simon, accepting the bet. "Look at those moves, he's a ninja. Engineering ninja."

"Ninjaneer," Jan suggests.

Tony wonders whether Pepper would let him add that to his business card.

"See, that's what I was talking about, Cap," Michael says, turning to look at Steve and gesturing at Tony at the same time. "I wanna be able to do that in the Guardsman armor when it's ready."

"Three to me," Tony says, taking advantage of Michael's distraction to tap Michael on his other cheek before bounding easily away.

"I wasn't ready," Michael says. "Ah, time-out, time-out, my ankle connection is loose."

Tony squints at him, skeptical, and comes to a pause a distance enough away that Michael can't launch a surprise attack on him. Tony watches him warily—Kevin had often used a timeout in their sometimes workshop games to try and win a sneaky point, and Kevin said he learned that from his brother.

"Is that okay for you, Tony?" Jan calls across, her face creased in concern.

"The ankle connection being loose?" Tony shrugs. "It's designed to be tightened to the owner's requirements-—"

"No, I meant… you're so fast," Jan says. "I wasn't… can you do that okay? You know. With your… With your heart as it is."

"That's what the chestplate is for," Tony says, gesturing at the chestplate, more visible under his t-shirt now the rig is on and straining the thin fabric. "It's a supplemental pacemaker. Keeps me as fit and healthy as anyone else… save if, y'know, a giant chunk of falling ceiling doesn't manage crush the powercells in just the wrong place."

"So the attack on the mansion, the way you were… incapacitated," Michael says carefully, not wanting to say out loud how dead Tony had been for a few minutes. "That was just a fluke hit that took you out, really?"

"Guess so," Tony shrugs.

Michael frowns. "You aren't scared to have that as a vulnerability?"

"Well, we all do. Well. All regular, non-enhanced people do. Every day. Every time we walk out of the door," Tony says. "Anyone can die suddenly. Bodies are unpredictable. Genetic abnormalities can take people without notice. Even without that, people have notably weak parts. You can hit your head in just the wrong place and die. One stab to the femoral or carotid arteries, you can bleed out before anyone can help you. We're all one potential accident away from death."

Michael's eyes are moist, and Tony's throat tightens, because he hadn't meant to remind Michael of how Kevin died.

"Even in armor, one accidental shot and it can all be over," Tony says. "You took that risk every day as a cop."

"Well, yeah, I knew what I was getting into," Michael says. "The risk is worth the cost."

"I guess you could say I'm actually _more _protected than most people are by wearing this," Tony says, tapping the chestplate with enough force that it makes a dull noise even through the t-shirt. "Much harder for a potential criminal to stab me in the stomach through metal. Now have you tightened that enough or are you just trying to make me look away so you can launch a sneak attack?"

"Dang, busted," Michael sighs, and then tries to launch a sneak attack anyway, launching forward with a kick that Tony dodges.

Tony twists backward, rapidly, and flicks Michael twice in the forehead.

"Bullshit, how are you so good at this?" Michael demands.

"Hundreds of hours testing," Tony says, flipping backward lazily and grinning at Michael from a distance. "Easy when the device is this fun."

"Oh my god," Michael yells. "_Pepper_!"

Tony turns automatically, and Michael _slaps _him, flicks his nose, and bounces back, looking exceptionally pleased with himself.

"O'Brien, you _fuckwidget,_" Tony snipes, rubbing at his cheek, but he grins at Michael, pleased he's getting the hang of it.

"Fuckwidget?" Clint calls across. "O'Brien, have you been ruining _everyone's_ vocabulary?"

"I'd like to take credit, but that's some of Kevin's bullshit, not mine," Michael says.

Tony squints. "I don't think I've ever said it before today."

"But you'd have heard it. That's the thing about my brother. Damn idiot lodges in your brain, you can't get him out." Michael smiles softly. "Good thing we never want him gone, eh?"

Tony smiles at him sadly. He shakes himself abruptly. "Come on, let's focus on me kicking your ass."

"Hell, no," Michael says. "I managed to tag you! I'm quitting on a high."

Tony laughs. "So soon? I guess I thought you'd be able to last longer." He winks at Michael as sleazily as he can manage, which just makes Michael laugh too. Tony glances across at the Avengers, worried that they're bored, and Clint has his hand up. "This isn't school, Barton."

Clint lowers his hand and shuffles awkwardly. "Well, I was just wondering… can I have a go?"

"Oh man, this should be good," Simon whispers fervently.

Tony considers it. "Jan, you want to try too? I can't risk it on anyone else, sorry—they're not designed for super strength."

"Ooh, can I?" Jan asks.

Tony grins and pulls out his phone to make a call to R&D to send a runner to the training room with two more exoskeleton rigs.

"We can still play tag too, right?" Hank says, squirming when he realizes everyone's looking at him. "What? It looked kind of fun."

Tony glances over to Steve, who nods in support of the idea. It's not often Tony gets the chance to just go with the flow. "Why not," he says.

* * *

Michael's ego was a little bit damaged by playing tag with Tony, but his mood cheers up immensely when Clint spends the next half an hour falling repeatedly on his butt.

Jan, however, helps dent Tony's ego a little too when she masters the rig in about ten minutes. She bounds around happily, twisting and turning, grinning delightedly the entire time, so it's hard to be mad at her. "I thought this would be difficult," she cries, landing a triple somersault on her first attempt.

Tony's smile is a little fixed when he tells her, "Most people take a while to get the hang of it."

"Oh, I've never been most people, I suppose," Jan dimples, and manages to double-tap both Hank and Simon on the cheek in one go during a series of graceful backflips.

"I suppose we'd better look to see if the other Hank could make that rig shrink with the rest of her uniform," Steve says, coming up to Tony's side. "You know you're probably never getting it back, right?"

Tony laughs. "She's paid for it a thousand times over, just with that smile," he says, fondly watching as Jan leaps over Clint, poking him twice in the nose, and Clint abruptly falls over again, yelling that Jan isn't a Wasp, she's a trickster fairy devil. Somehow this just makes Jan smile wider.

Steve smiles, and Tony reaches out and pats Steve twice on the head.

"Point to me," Tony says, beaming at him.

Steve scowls and apparently that means Tony is now his sole target, because Tony has to spend the next twenty minutes using his best moves to avoid him. Steve wins their sudden tag duel, of course, but Tony's pleased he's managed to drag it out. When Steve manages his twentieth double-tap, a friendly open-palmed touch against Tony's cheek, Tony sags to the ground exhausted. When Tony looks up, he realizes the other Avengers and Michael must have been stopped for a while, because the five of them are slumped against the wall, and seem to be exchanging money.

"Aw, you bet on me, Clint?" Tony says, touched.

"Technically he bet against you," Simon says, cheerfully accepting the bill Clint sourly offers him. "He thought you'd only last five minutes."

"I used to like you," Tony says, pointing at Clint. He closes his eyes and leans back, catching his breath. He feels really good. It's been too long since he let himself have any kind of a physical workout as himself. Iron Man has been getting all his spare time. He really needs to let something go in his life, but figuring out what just gives him a headache when he tries to think about it. "You too, by the way," Tony adds, as he hears Steve sit down nearby.

"Wait," Steve says, "me? What did I do wrong?"

Tony snaps open one eye, balefully staring at him. "You went easy on me."

Steve stares at him flatly, and then shrugs, looking embarrassed. "A little," he admits. "Much less than I planned to, if that helps."

"Thanks," Tony says dryly.

"You're in really good shape, though," Jan calls over, looking pointedly at his exposed arms. "I don't see you out of your suit often enough."

"Any time for you, Ms. Van Dyne," Tony says, with a wink.

"You must play a lot of tennis," Steve offers, and Tony's confused, until he remembers the excuse he blurted out in Steve's apartment.

"Yep," Tony says, and uses his fingers to add quotation marks when he says, "A _lot _of 'tennis.'"

Jan laughs loudly, and when Tony turns to smirk at Steve, Steve's blushing. Tony winks at him, and the blush deepens, which… That's kind of interesting.

"I thought the whole Steve dating Tony thing was a joke," Simon says. "It is, right? Sitwell was just winding us up. _Right_?"

"I thought so," Jan says. "Not so sure right now."

Tony sighs in exasperation, forcing himself to look away from Steve before his imagination goes too crazy; everyone flushes after exercise, even Captain America. He rolls himself to his feet in one smooth motion, not even needing the rig's hydraulic joints. "I'm going to get us some water," he says, firmly.

"Changing the topic is highly suspicious," Michael says in a sing-song.

Tony shoots him a withering look and heads for the internal door that leads into the hallway connecting testing lab two to testing lab three. He's pretty sure there's a vending machine there with bottled drinks, because they used to have water fountains, but having open cups of water in testing areas had led to some uncomfortable problems once or twice.

There is a machine, and Tony quickly dispenses seven bottles. Then he wishes he'd asked for help, because carrying seven bottles isn't easy. _Then_ he remembers he's an engineer, and he uses his t-shirt like a basket to carry the bottles, because the Avengers know about the return of his chestplate now. The rig means carrying the extra weight is barely noticeable. He pushes through the door into the testing lab and promptly drops all the bottles at once.

Because the room is empty.

Oh. Well. That's… That's a surprise, of course, but they must have had a reason to disappear. Tony stands awkwardly where he is, the door shutting automatically behind him, and then he realizes he dropped the bottles, but they didn't make a sound.

That's really odd. That's _beyond_ odd. Tony reaches into his pocket for his phone, and when he pulls it out, it's blank. That's weird; it had been fully charged when he left his office. Scared now, Tony turns to flee through the door.

Except the door he just came through isn't there anymore.

What? _What?_

Tony turns to head towards the door that leads out of the room, except that promptly disappears too, and the windows, and the luridly green ceiling vanishes too, and Tony's standing in a white void and he feels like his heart is in his throat. He feels dizzy, and the walls are wobbling, and if Tony hadn't already had more heart attacks than he'd like to admit to, he'd think that was what was happening, but it's not.

Tony doesn't know what's going on except for the single, horrifying truth: he's trapped, and he's alone.


	12. Chapter 12

My songs cease—I abandon them,

From behind the screen where I hid, I advance personally.

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

Tony's first theory is that he's gone insane. Maybe this is exactly what going insane feels like?

The floor seems solid enough, and the air he's hauling into his lungs seems normal, but everything's gone strange. Tony's impulse is to reach his hands forward, to bring out Iron Man, but then he notices the way the walls are moving, like they're waving. He freezes in place in realization.

He's never personally felt this himself before, but he's heard of a moment _exactly _like this. The memory tugs at him until it resolves into truth. Spider-Man had told him of a moment like this, this exact sensation.

It was when they were fighting the Wraith together a while ago. Brian DeWolff had been under control of his father at the time; his father had created Brian's "Wraith" identity and used him as a tool for revenge, until Iron Man, Spider-Man, and Doctor Strange all worked together to stop Phillip and free Brian from his control. Tony desperately tries to think if Phillip DeWolff had been on the list of escapees from Ryker's Island, but he doesn't think so.

If this is the Wraith, Brian must be working on his own. But why? The last Tony remembered, the court case had been successful, and Brian had been reunited with his beloved sister. Tony hasn't kept track of him. Maybe he should have. Is this yet another failure to add to Tony's list?

Tony takes a tentative step forwards, tilting his head. "Brian. Brian DeWolff? Is that you? Or do you prefer Wraith?"

Then there's a burst of color, and Tony barely has time to move as a blur of red, gold, and blue moves straight for him, grabbing firmly onto his wrists before he can react. Heck, if the Wraith is using his powers, Tony might not be moving at all. The Wraith's powers are psionic. He can get right into your brain and make you see anything he likes.

And right now, he seems to want Tony to be seeing a vague blur that looks a lot like the Jack of Hearts.

Tony's stomach feels like it's dropped right through his body to the floor. The space around them ripples indistinctly, and Jack of Hearts becomes clearer to Tony. The half of his face unobscured by the mask holds a hardened expression.

"I'm sorry we had to do this," Jack says, in a low voice. "But you left me no choice, Mr. Stark. Your secretary keeps delaying our meeting, and I think I know why now."

Tony stares at him. He tries to move, but he can't. His stare shifts into a glare. "Let me go," he demands. "Where are the other people who were here? What have you done with them?"

"They left on their own," Jack says, dismissively. "Except for the red-haired foul-mouthed one. Thanks to the Wraith, he can't see me. He can't see you. He can't hear us. He thinks you're still getting water. Thanks to Wraith, they'll never notice you're gone. Not until you've told me the truth."

Tony blinks at him. This whole thing is insane. He'd thought Jack of Hearts was a good guy—despite attacking him during Midas' invasion of his facility, his intentions seemed in the right place. That'll teach Tony to assume things.

"What truth?" Tony asks.

"Where the hell is Iron Man?" Jack demands. "Because I've been watching you, over and over, and he keeps disappearing. And whenever he disappears, you're around. I know you're involved. I thought you were a good guy, my dad always said you were, but you've done _something_ hinky to Iron Man, and I'm going to find out what it is!"

Tony stares, unable to respond, because what the _heck_? This guy is a complete idiot. He glances at Jack of Heart's bright suit and swallows nervously, because he's an idiot. But he's a powerful one, and they're the most dangerous kind. He shakes his head. He can't just explain to an idiot he's barely met that he _is_ Iron Man, how would he even—

"Holy shit!" a voice yells, and the room snaps back into place.

It's still empty, except for Michael, sitting down against a wall, looking half asleep—right until he notices Tony's now stood in the middle of the room, a costumed _idiot_ restraining him, while a guy in a purple costume and a black cape with a covered face yells another expletive. That's the Wraith Tony remembers. It's irritating, because Tony thought the Wraith kind of owed him one.

Except the Wraith probably believes he owes _Iron Man_ a favor, not Tony Stark. And if Jack's told the Wraith that Iron Man keeps disappearing and it's Tony's fault… Well, he guesses that explains why the Wraith might be involved.

Michael leaps to his feet uncertainly, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene. "Uh, boss, what's going on?"

"Stay right there for the moment," Tony says, his voice quiet, trying to gauge the weird situation for the level of threat it really is.

Jack's hands are firmly on Tony's wrists still, which means Tony can't put the Iron Man armor on yet, but if he tenses his calves and leaps backward with a kick, he _might_ be able to startle Jack into letting him go. At least enough for him to put the armor on and blast him in the face. Jack's not distracted enough yet, though. And does Tony really want to reveal his identity to yet another person? He kind of doesn't. Maybe he can reach the testing lab's armory in time to get the stun gun free...

"Holy _fucking_ shit," Wraith yells again. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark. Jack, you goddamned idiot, let him the hell go. This is… I mean, honestly, this is White Tiger all over again."

"What, no, that's ridiculous," Jack says, squinting at Tony. "I don't think you can accuse me of leaping before I look _this_ time."

"Of course I can," Wraith snaps. "He _is _Iron Man, you dumb-ass."

Up this close to him, Tony can tell that Jack's eyes are different colors, one blue, and one white. Both go wide. Jack's hands go lax in surprise and that's the out that Tony needs—he leaps backward, using the exoskeleton to boost his jump, and then he stares at Jack warily as he starts to detach the exoskeleton rig from his body.

Jack looks at Tony warily, then back across at Wraith. "Are you serious?"

Jack's reaction seems to break Michael's confusion and Michael runs over to Tony's side.

"Boss, what the hell's going on?" Michael asks.

"I'd kind of like to know myself," Tony says. He glances around at where the Avengers were before he left the room. "Where did the others go?"

"There was an alert," Michael says, softly. "From Agent Sitwell. Madame Masque turned up at SHIELD headquarters and turned herself in."

Tony curses under his breath, finally detaching the rig and dropping it to one side. If everyone in the room already knows he's Iron Man, it's better to be without the exoskeleton. "Why would she do that?"

Michael shrugs. "Apparently Midas is intent on attacking somewhere prominent immediately and the Avengers couldn't wait, and—"

Michael's cut off by Jack's loud exclamation. "Wait, Wraith—you're really telling me _Tony Stark_ is Iron Man?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, I couldn't help it, you know my psionic powers mean sometimes I can read minds," Wraith says. "I'll keep your secret safe, I promise. Iron Man saved my life. _You_ saved my life! I can't believe this." He whirls around to face Jack. "Jack Hart, you holy idiot, I can't believe you made a mistake _again_."

Jack puts his hands on his hips. "What do you mean _again_—"

Wraith looms closer to Jack. "You accused the White Tiger of murder."

"Well, that's true, but that was an innocent mistake, anyone could have done it."

"And there was that time with the Hulk—"

"That was an accident, a misunderstanding—"

"Which makes this your third time unlucky!" Wraith hisses. He looks at Tony apologetically. "I'm really very sorry."

"You said that already," Tony says, flatly, unimpressed.

"You're messing with me," Jack says, "there is _no way_ that Tony Stark is Iron Man, he's—"

Tony sighs, absolutely gives up, checks around to see none of his employees are looking through the window, and he makes the wrist gesture necessary to make the suit work.

"Oh," Jack says, faintly, staring at Iron Man's sudden appearance. "Shit."

"Okay, Cheech, Chong, zip it, we've got actual issues here," Tony says, turning to face Michael directly. There's no way that the Avengers would have left Michael basically alone for no good reason. "Tell me everything from the top."

* * *

Sitwell's already left a message with Pepper, and she doesn't even look surprised that it's Iron Man who runs into her office.

"Agent Sitwell needs to see you," Pepper says. "Immediately. It's something about Midas. He says he's sending a jet for you, it should be at the front in the next five minutes."

Tony nods. "Block my calls, all appointments, for the rest of the day. Tomorrow too, if you can."

Her eyes dart to Tony's entourage. Michael's still in his exoskeleton rig, toting a stun gun they picked up on the way. Wraith and Jack of Hearts are hanging behind him, looking out of place in _Stark International's _fluorescent lighting.

"Is everything all right?" Pepper says. "Should I send the employees home?"

Tony glances at the clock. "I don't want to cause a panic," he says, slowly. "Wait five minutes, pull a fire alarm, and quietly let the team leaders know they can send their people home as a gift for their hard work."

"Understood," Pepper says.

"Get Happy to take you home in my usual car," Tony says, in a lower voice. It's bullet-proof, but he's not saying that out loud. "I'll brief you as soon as I can."

Pepper hesitates for a moment, but then nods. "Take care," she says, her eyes moist with worry.

"You two, with me," Tony says, pointing at the Wraith and Jack of Hearts. They owe him, and he might as well ride that debt to some back-up. Midas is never a joke or someone to be underestimated. "Michael, would you stay with Pepper if I asked you to?"

"I want to come with you," Michael says, his grip tightening on the stun gun.

"I had to ask," Tony says. "Come on, this way."

He leads them the long way around to the front doors, to reduce the number of his workers who see them. A couple do, and the rumors are probably already flying, but Tony doesn't have time to worry too much about that. He has too much else to think about.

"How did you persuade the Avengers to leave you behind?" Tony asks, curious.

"I told them Iron Man was just next door," Michael says. "I mean, it wasn't even really a lie. Cap said to tell you to tell Iron Man to follow as soon as possible."

Tony sighs. Well, that's not a technique he can copy any time soon.

It's not Sitwell that comes to pick them up, but it is a SHIELD agent Tony's seen before, and he just nods and accepts the fact that Iron Man has arrived with three companions. Maybe he thinks they're Avengers. Admittedly sometimes even Tony can't even keep up with their extended roster. It seems like there are new superheroes every week. It's a good thing, Tony thinks. Probably. For the moment, with just as many new villains appearing, and old ones rising to cause merry havoc, it's definitely a bonus.

When the jet drops them off at SHIELD headquarters, Tony can't see the Avengers anywhere. His stomach tightens.

Sitwell meets them at the front door and also doesn't really react much to Tony's companions. SHIELD probably already have files on them. Tony wonders what _Iron Man_'s SHIELD file looks like. He makes a mental note to try and swipe a copy one of these days, to see how well his identity holds up to their intel. There are a regrettable number of villains who seem to have already figured it out. Tony thinks of Commander Kraken with a twinge of guilt, wondering if there was any more he could have done.

He pushes that aside. Villains knew evil deeds came with risks. They knew they were committing crimes in the era of the Avengers. Tony shouldn't take responsibility for every single accident that occurs while he's in the armor. He shouldn't, but he probably always will.

"Iron Man," Sitwell says. "I'm glad you're here. The Avengers were coming, but they got a lead on Midas, so they've gone chasing after him, and I need your help."

"Anything," Tony says. "You said Madame Masque was here."

Sitwell's face pinches. "Yeah. I'd appreciate your help talking to her. She's not making much sense."

Tony stares and nods. "Take me to her."

Sitwell leads him through the building; Michael, Jack and the Wraith all follow them closely. Jack and Michael look bewildered. SHIELD is probably a shock when you weren't used to them, Tony supposes. It's funny how much of being an Avenger that Tony's managed to just easily take in his stride. He thinks it's probably because the weirdest thing has already happened to him.

Whitney's in one of their interrogation rooms, hands bound to a table that's bolted to the ground. She's slumped forwards, her hair falling over her golden mask, and Tony notes in confusion that one of her boots looks different. Shinier, somehow.

She looks up when Tony comes in. Obscured by the mask, her face is always a blank, but her pose is pure ambivalence. "Oh, you," she sighs. "_Iron Man_." She knows his identity; of course she does. Tony knows hers, too. He doesn't know whether Sitwell's cottoned on yet that the woman he used to date, Whitney Frost, is the woman below the mask.

"Madame Masque," Tony says, carefully. "Care to tell me why someone like you would just turn themselves in?"

Whitney rolls her shoulders in a graceful shrug. "Whatever I've done has been to protect you. I know that's hard to believe, but it's the truth."

"So you _didn't_ let several of my armors fall into Mordecai Midas' grubby hands?" Tony asks.

He can hear the smile in her voice even if he can't see it. "I was planning to give them back. I needed to let him have a few so I could find out his plans."

"Of course," Tony says, harshly.

Sitwell's been quiet until then, but he makes a noise as something in his pocket beeps, and he pulls out a small tablet. His eyebrows shoot up.

"Let me guess," Whitney says, in a heavily sarcastic tone. "Midas has been up to something. Color me surprised."

"There's been a delivery made. Outside the Avengers' mansion," Sitwell says, his face drawn as he squints at his tablet. His mouth falls open. "It's… I can't believe it. It can't… this has to be another of his media tricks."

"I told you, Sitwell," Whitney says, lurching forward in her seat as far as she can to glare at him. She doesn't need a moving expression to communicate pure sourness because it's all in her tone. "I told you what he did to me. I was lucky and got out of the way as I made my escape. I'm lucky it was just my boot."

Tony stares at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Someone's made a ray for Midas," Whitney says, impatiently. "Everything it touches turns to gold." She gestures with her bound hands to her right, glimmering boot. "This isn't a fashion choice to _match my mask,_" she says, her voice dripping with disdain. "It's a weapon. Whatever the light touches, it turns to gold. I got out of the way barely in time, the ray glanced my shoe." Whitney turns her mask so it's directly facing Tony. "When he missed me, he hit one of his own soldiers. Turned him to solid gold."

"Oh my god," Sitwell breathes, the tablet hanging limply in his hand.

Tony can't decipher what he's seeing on the screen for a long moment, distracted by the familiar lines of the mansion, and when he realizes what it is, he nearly throws up. No. _No._

It's the Avengers. Steve standing with his shield held high defensively. Beast with one fist in the air. Hawkeye with an arrow notched onto his bow, ready to let it fly. Simon has his fists near his face, protectively, like he's in the middle of a bout of fisticuffs. Jan is at full-size, her arm covering her face like she's shielding her eyes from something.

They're all beautifully frozen in that one moment, mid-action.

Unmoving.

Turned into gold.

A banner is strung between them, a message meant just for Tony painted across it in large golden letters:

"YOU CAN HAVE THE FORMULA TO TURN THEM BACK, IRON MAN. IF YOU COME ALONE."

* * *

"So what you're saying," Jack says to Whitney after she's briefly told them again what happened to her, "is that Midas has a ray that turns things to gold?"

"Who the hell are you?" Whitney asks, turning her mask in his direction finally. "Who invited the jester to the party?"

"I'm Jack of Hearts," Jack starts, peering closer at her boot. "Is it _actual_ gold?"

"Our initial scans said so," Sitwell says, distracted by something on his tablet. "I've got some people on the scene at a distance. It seems like the mansion is overrun with a lot of heat signatures."

Tony sighs. Steve's never going to let him go back to the mansion. He's more sad about that than he thought he would be.

Jack prods cautiously at Whitney's boot, because apparently impulsive is just how he rolls. Whitney makes a soft growling sound, but something sparks out of Jack's hand, and her boot cracks into four pieces, hitting the ground, leaving a stunned Whitney sat there, wriggling a bare foot at a surprised Jack.

"Whoops," Jack says, and his half-mouth wrinkles in apology. "Sorry, the suit keeps my power in, but sometimes it glitches."

"You're a walking disaster," Tony snipes, his brain racing. He squints and stares at Whitney's foot. "If the Avengers have been turned to gold, you can't use their powers on them, Jack. You're too dangerous." He frowns. "Except if I was in my armor..." He glances at the picture on Sitwell's tablet, and then back at Whitney's perfect, bare foot. "You said the ray when it hit you, it just hit the sole of your boot?"

Whitney nods.

"You know, I've fought him before, but Midas has never had that sort of technology," Tony says. "But I knew someone who was working on a transmutation ray, once upon a time. Abe Klein. He was my professor at MIT. I intercepted him on Midas' ship during the invasion of _Stark International._"

Sitwell shoots him a look. "You were at MIT?" Tony freezes, awkwardly. "Ah, well, I guess you had to meet Tony Stark somewhere."

"Haha, yeah," Tony says, awkwardly.

"Klein was in the same jail as Midas was," Sitwell says, awkwardly.

"Let me guess, he's also on the list of escapees," Tony sighs. His brain rolls rapidly. He thinks there's a plan in his thoughts coming together, but it's difficult to listen to, among the panic of _the Avengers have been turned to gold, my friends have been turned to gold, Steve has been turned to gold_—

He pushes that voice aside. There's no time for it. The Avengers need him. They need him to rescue them.

And if he can't, they need him to avenge them.

Tony breathes evenly, and closes his eyes. He can almost feel Steve's hand, warm on his hip, and it gives him strength. His eyes snap open.

He glances over at Michael, waiting for Michael to realize Tony's looking at him. When he does, Michael looks startled, like he was wondering why would _he_ be the focus of anyone's attention during a situation like this. It's the exact moment that Tony realizes why Michael doesn't want to be an Avenger.

He wants to be there _before_ anyone needs to be avenged. He wants to be a protector. As much as he wants to carry on Kevin's legacy, Michael still wants to be a cop, even if it's in a different form. He's brave, and that's what Tony's going to need, if he's going to have a chance against Mordecai Midas.

"You remember how I said you shouldn't wear the Guardsman armor, whatever happened?" Tony says.

"Something about kittens and hammers," Michael says, looking at him dubiously.

"Well, you're going to have to ignore me," Tony says, and he smiles grimly. "I've got a plan."

* * *

_Stark International_ is already working at a skeleton-staff level when Tony gets there, and the security guards on duty don't even blink at seeing Iron Man flying over the gates, even if Iron Man _is_ carrying a whole other person.

"I don't think I like flying very much," Michael says, holding his stomach when they land in the main compound.

"I guess that means you don't want rocket jets on the Guardsman armor," Tony says, already hurrying in the direction of his workshop. He's pretty sure he can do this work in ten minutes, but the idea of Midas getting impatient is unsettling. He's already unhinged enough.

Sitwell's already working up a perimeter around the mansion, evacuating nearby properties as safely as he can.

Tony unlocks the Guardsman armor and starts throwing parts at Michael, who uncertainly starts climbing into the armor, and Michael hovers worriedly while Tony makes the necessary amendments.

"You ready to do this?" Tony asks. "You really don't have to."

"I'm ready," Michael says, his jaw clenched firmly in a way that is so purely like Kevin's expression before doing something that needed courage. Tony learned not to argue with that expression, so he just nods and gets to work.

Tony's entire body is tense, the same way it usually is before a fight. Sitwell's pretty sure Midas isn't bluffing, and Tony's entire body is heavy with anticipation. He loves fighting with the Avengers at his back. He hates the idea having to go into a fight _for_ their lives.

Tony takes a deep breath and throws the modified helmet at Michael. "If I'm wrong and this melts your brain, try and wait to kill me until I've got Midas."

Michael looks a little pale, but he takes the helmet in both hands. "I'll keep it in mind."

Michael doesn't seem to be going insane, which is a relief of sorts, because Tony kind of feels _he_ is. This is all crazy. They might need to check Tony into the same facility as Marianne when this is all over. He wonders briefly what would have happened if Midas' weird bluff had worked, or his destruction. He wouldn't have had the money for Marianne's treatment. He chokes back a laugh at the mental image of adding an unbalanced psychic to the muddle of this very bad day, and he firmly pushes it away. There's no point courting more demons to join the mix.

Tony flies them both to the jet once he's done, to Michael's chagrin. Sitwell's there waiting for them. Jack and the Wraith are still there too, which is nice—they haven't run away screaming at Tony's plan. It's risky, but since when has that ever stopped Tony when most of the risk lies solely on him?

As the SHIELD agent makes the short flight, Tony takes the opportunity to go and sit by Jack. Jack looks at him, another apology already on his lips, but Tony shakes his head.

"Let me speak," Tony says. "Before we do this." He takes a short breath, and just decides to say it, because they're running out of time. "I wanted to apologize to you." Jack looks startled. "I should have told Pepper that it was important we meet. I've been… running two lives at once, and running out of time on both ends. I've been letting some things slip and you've ended up being one of them, and I'm deeply sorry for that."

"It's fine, I shouldn't have leapt to conclusions," Jack says, earnestly.

"And I should have tried to find time for you," Tony says, shrugging. "Then you wouldn't have _had_ to watch me and come _up_ with whatever odd theory you _did_ have that I was… what… making Iron Man randomly disappear?"

"Well, now you say it out loud..." Jack winces. "I'm going to make it up for you, I promise."

Tony claps him on the shoulder reassuringly. "I know you will."

He crosses the jet to sit back next to Michael, smiling to himself.

"Iron Man?" Michael says softly.

Tony glances up at him. "Yeah?"

"That was really nice of you," Michael says.

"I'm actually a little impressed with myself, that was a breakthrough," Tony says, laughing softly. Mostly because if he doesn't find something to laugh at, his fear over the Avengers will claw up into his throat and leave him a sobbing, frozen mess. "I just learned to apologize like an actual adult. No more massive robot arms apologies in my future." He considers that. "Uh. Well. Hopefully _less_ apology arms."

"You're not making a lot of sense," Michael says dubiously.

Tony beams. "Kevin used to say that too."

"Ugh," Michael says. "You _really_ must speak nonsense, then."

"Quite often," Tony agrees, faux-cheerfully. His smile fades as he realizes the jet is descending, a couple of blocks away from the mansion. He takes a deep breath. "Do you all understand the plan? Are you ready to play your parts? Now is the time to back out."

"We're ready," Jack says.

"I'm in," Michael says.

"Try and stop me," Wraith says.

Tony nods and clenches his fist. Time to stop Midas, once and for all.

* * *

Midas grins widely when he sees Iron Man approaching, completely alone. Tony's stomach feels cold. Midas is sitting on his floating golden throne, the Avengers displayed like trophies to his side. He's flanked by ten of his soldiers, and ten of the Mechanoids float behind him.

"Here I am, Midas," Tony calls out.

"Iron Man!" Midas crows, delighted. "I didn't get to fight you much, last time we shared a battlefield. I have to say, I was disappointed. I do so enjoy our skirmishes."

"Well, I'm here," Tony says, grimly. "Fix the Avengers and let them go. They have nothing to do with this. You want me, I'm yours."

"Oh, my dearest adversary," Midas says, and his wide face stretches into a grotesque grin that churns Tony's stomach. "Perhaps I would have, if you'd heeded my instructions." Midas' eyes are dark. "I told you to come alone."

"I'm so sorry, Iron Man," Abe Klein whimpers, from where he's cowering near Midas' floating, golden throne. "I have to help him, I have no choice." There's a device in Abe's hands, and for a moment Tony worries it's the ray that turns things to gold, but it's something worse: a high-pitched noise.

Tony manages to filter it out through his helmet, so he's knocked to his knees, but it's worse for the others, because the illusions Wraith are trying so hard to project disappear, and Wraith falls unconscious to the floor, blood dripping from his mask.

Without the Wraith, Midas can clearly see Jack of Hearts and Michael flanking him. Midas sneers and lifts up what has to be the golden ray gun, and he doesn't hesitate before blasting the three of them with it.

Tony falls to the ground, the armor immediately becoming an expensive paperweight, and he grunts in pain. Unfortunately the ray distorts his mask too, so he can't even see out, but he can still hear everything.

"Guards, take them inside, and the rest of them. I want them lined up nicely in the hallway," Midas beams. "My perfect golden collection of trophies."

Whitney's intel is correct. With his knowledge of Klein's transmutation ray, Tony was able to add extra protection to his armor, a minor deflection so the ray would only turn the armor to gold, and not the person wearing it. He can only hope the same is true of Michael in the Guardsman armor.

Jack won't be faring so well. Tony's stomach clenches, but he has faith in the plan. And Midas is playing into it, by keeping them together. But that's what Tony was relying on. Midas is obsessed with wealth. It's one of the main reasons he fixates on Tony, because Tony is actually rich, and Midas envies that.

He knew with a golden ray at his disposal, Midas would want them as actual trophies. Sometimes it's a curse to be able to predict the future so well, but a lot of the times, like this one, it's a blessing.

It doesn't take long for the perfect moment to present itself. As soon as Midas' soldiers drag them into place, they report back to Midas outside, apparently believing people who've been turned into gold aren't a threat. Tony smirks. He is definitely still a threat. Especially because Jack's weird power, that Tony _really_ has to look at more closely when this is all over, is even better than Tony anticipated, because Jack starts melting as soon as the soldiers leave, some of his flesh appearing through the metal, and that's even better than Tony's original plan of how to escape his armor.

Jack wobbles, reaches out, and his fingers graze against Tony's golden shell, and the Iron Man armor shatters into pieces. Tony grins as he clambers out of the Iron Man fragments. He's sad for the lost armor, of course, but if it saves the lives of his friends, it's a worthy sacrifice. He checks around to make sure they're still being ignored, and he's about to try and drag Michael closer to Jack's hands, when one of the Mechanoids comes in and sees Tony moving.

It immediately zooms at him, blasting, and Tony rolls out of the way. He's prepared for this, too. Only the armor was turned into gold. Nothing else. Tony points the stun gun he concealed inside his suit at the Mechanoid and dials up the power setting as he shoots it.

The Mechanoid explodes into pieces.

Sadly, that draws the attention of two more Mechanoids, and Tony quickly takes them out too, leading them into the kitchen before ducking behind a counter and shooting them both.

"Shit, someone must be in here," Tony hears one of the soldiers say, presumably sent to investigate the commotion. Tony swallows and moves quickly. He doesn't have any Iron Man armor in the mansion, because it's still all waiting to be checked in his storage facility. But he doesn't necessarily need the Iron Man armor, when he's surrounded by literal spare parts that he can salvage into something useful.

Moving quickly, Tony grabs enough pieces of the Mechanoid—one of the abandoned helmets covers his face nicely, and the eyes are holes like one of his earlier Iron Man armors, so it's a nice flashback to the past. Tony grabs more pieces and moves into the pantry, quickly jamming them on. He'd helped gather up a lot of the pieces of the Mechanoids from the attack on SI, and he already knows how to make them work like this. He plugs one of their gauntlets directly into his chestplate, and then pushes a large chest piece over the top to protect it.

That's all he has—one gauntlet, a chestplate and a helmet. It's enough to hide his face.

It's enough to do what he needs.

Tony creeps back into the kitchen, in time for the front doors of the mansion to be hit by something heavy, and Tony peers out to see it's Midas, zooming directly through the closed doors, forcibly splintering them open, and Tony sighs, exasperated, because why couldn't he _open a single door_, c'mon.

It looks like Jack is unconscious. Well, he's done enough. Tony can take it from here.

"Iron Man, is that you?" Midas crows, at the sight of Tony in his salvaged Mechanoid pieces, and he laughs. "You really thought you could come after me like _that_? Ha, what's your name now? _Spare Parts Man?_"

"You know, Midas," Tony calls out, trying to deepen his voice so he doesn't give Midas an unfortunate clue to his real identity, "I might look weird, but this has been exactly my plan from the start."

Tony lifts up the single gauntlet, squeezes the command to power the repulsor blast, and he fires.

Midas raises up his hands, deploying some sort of light shield that also looks like one of Abe Klein's creations, except the repulsor blast doesn't even hit the shield. When Midas realizes, he starts cackling.

"My goodness," Midas says, turning the shield off and grinning again. "You had one decent chance to try and hit me, Iron Man, and you blew it! What an idiot."

Tony smirks. It's unfortunate that it's hidden by the awkward Mechanoid helmet. He wants Midas to know how smug he's feeling at this very moment in time. "I wasn't aiming at you, fuckwidget," he says.

Midas frowns, just in time to see Michael emerge from the newly-shattered golden Guardsman armor, covering the floor in a shower of shining metal. Michael's wearing the exoskeleton and toting two stun guns.

Michael shoots the guns at Midas without a moment's hesitation, and Midas tries to bring the shields up again, but he's too slow. Midas slumps over in his throne, unconscious.

Tony beams and pulls out his phone to let Sitwell know that SHIELD can move in now.

As SHIELD quickly process the soldiers and Mechanoids outside, Michael and Tony slump onto the main staircase of the mansion. They look at each other and start laughing, helplessly.

"You look ridiculous," Michael informs him. "Like you lost your shoe in a puddle."

"And the rest," Tony says, hiccuping another laugh. It's not the first time he's ended up laughing at the end of a fight. Something about adrenaline and relief in sharp proximity to each other.

"That was pretty awesome," Michael says, looking down at the gun in his hand. "Kevin did an awesome job with these." He smiles softly. "I love the fact we saved the day with his creation. It's an awesome legacy."

Tony nods. He can't talk much after that. Sitwell pushes Abe Klein through the doors and at the Avengers. He glances oddly at Michael and Tony, until Michael mouths _Iron Man_ and points at Tony. Tony watches, silent and tense, as Klein looks at the Avengers and promises that he can return them to normal, in return for a fair hearing at his trial.

Sitwell immediately agrees.

Abe Klein manages to reverse the ray in the early hours of the following morning, and Tony feels like he can breathe again, finally seeing the Avengers emerge from their golden cocoons. Sitwell moves in with a team of medics, checking all five of them, and Tony watches from a careful distance, exhausted. The Avengers are okay. Everything's going to be okay.

The Mechanoid parts cover enough of Tony's features, but the disguise won't hold up to close inspection, so as soon as Tony knows the Avengers are definitely going to be okay, Michael helps him make his escape. Michael returns to the mansion to brief the Avengers as Tony heads out, shedding the Mechanoid parts and escaping into the side streets.

He feels naked and vulnerable without the Iron Man armor, and apparently Happy and Pepper have been worrying, because Happy turns up in the car barely ten minutes after Tony calls him. He's so tired, and when Tony asks Happy to take him to SI, Happy nearly protests until Tony stares at him. Something in Tony's eyes convinces Happy not to argue with him.

Happy insists on walking Tony to his workshop, and even though it's early, Pepper's already at her desk. She looks tired too. The whole world has a gray pallor. Tony just smiles at her weakly and disappears down into the haven of his workshop.

As soon as the door closes behind him, he sinks to the floor for a long moment.

That was close.

That was _so close._

His head is buzzing as he gets to his feet and he automatically goes to the Iron Man armor creation chamber to check that it is proceeding as planned. He knew his old suit would be a bust. This new armor should be ready in just a few hours.

Tony slumps, then turns to glance at his main monitor, and he freezes.

He can't believe it.

In all the chaos, he'd forgotten he had simulations still running, trying to find the problem in the Guardsman software. They've been gently running in the background, based on the ideas Hank gave him. And what's clear on the screen is that the scans are complete, and the results show unmistakably where the real problem lies.

Tony laughs, the sound almost dry and bitter in his disbelief.

This is it.

He's done it.

One of the hardest problems in his life and he's solved it. Tony's found the sole subroutine that's the problem. All he needs to do is delete that one section of code, and the Guardsman armor can operate without critical failure.

Michael can be the Guardsman now. Safely. Properly. Officially. Like Kevin should have been.

The floor feels unsteady and Tony grips the edge of the desk as it swims beneath him.

This is it. This is the solution.

But with the Guardsman available, does the world really need Iron Man?

Tony turns and stares hollowly at the Iron Man armor creation chamber.

He's been so busy. He's been so, so tired.

Tony could halt the production of the new armor right now. The mansion is covered in shattered Iron Man armor. Tony could walk out of his workshop with Iron Man officially dead and gone. He has his old suits still to be processed, but he could just check them to be sure and then safely archive them away.

Tony turns and walks over to the chamber, his feet moving like he's hypnotized. The chamber stops and starts via that one single red button at the base of the viewing window. His eyes move to that, slowly but surely, and he's so tempted he can barely breathe.

He's been so tired, but this could end that. Ho Yinsen died to save him, but maybe Tony's done enough. Maybe he's given enough. Maybe creating the Guardsman armor is good enough.

Tony doesn't know how long he stands there, just staring. He doesn't even notice he's not alone until there's a voice. It might even be the one voice in the world Tony wants to hear the most, but it doesn't drag his attention away from the chamber.

"Here you are," Steve says softly.

Tony doesn't look away from where the new epaulets are currently getting a second layer of the refractory coating designed to minimize exposure to radiation. He almost forgot he'd given Pepper a code to the workshop. She was supposed to save it for an emergency.

Maybe this counts as an emergency, Tony thinks dully.

"I asked Pepper to let me in," Steve explains. Tony can hear from his careful, quiet footsteps that Steve's gingerly approaching like Tony's something fragile. "She said you'd be down here."

Tony hums, not trusting his voice yet.

"It's just… The Avengers saw the broken Iron Man armor pieces across the floor..." Steve says, from somewhere behind him. "They've asked me to come and ask you if Iron Man was dead."

Tony stares into his machine at the almost soothing repetitive swaying motion some of the internal components make. "I'm thinking about it," he says, quietly.

His eyes almost lock onto the red button. One touch. That's all he would need. Tony sees a flash of movement in the glass of the window and he can feel Steve's presence, hovering near his shoulder. He can feel Steve's eyes on him.

"You know I promised I'd never tell you if Iron Man was dead," Tony says. He turns so he can look Steve in the eyes. Steve, looking confused, still meets his gaze face on.

"I remember," Steve says, softly.

Tony takes a shaking, shattered breath. "It's because I wouldn't be able to tell you if he did die."

Steve looks frozen again, like he did as a golden statue, but Tony can see the pulse in his neck and the slight lift and fall of his chest as he breathes.

"Because you _are _Iron Man," Steve says. His voice is barely above a whisper but it's so loud against the pounding of Tony's battered heart, and it's all Tony can do not to cry at those words being made real.

Tony nods, because he can't trust his voice to say _yes. _He does have to speak, though. "I told you I was a liar," he says, and his voice is wrecked to splinters. His eyes feel hot and heavy and he can't breathe.

Until Steve smiles, this odd ghost of a smile, and his eyes crinkle warmly, and he says, "Actually, I was hoping it was you."

Tony remembers how to breathe, even if it comes with a rush of warm confusion to his entire body. He stares at Steve, letting the bewilderment show on his face.

"Really?" Tony blurts, eyes scraping Steve's face and finding no hint of a lie.

"Really," Steve confirms, and his smile widens briefly, and then he shuffles a little, and looks away for a second, and then looks at Tony with a determined, fierce expression. "I didn't know how much longer I could stand a universe that had _two_ people in with as ridiculously low self-esteem as yours is. And were that tired." He huffs wryly. "Sometimes I yawned just looking at Iron Man, let alone you."

Steve's words ring with a truth that Tony can't deny, but he's still stuck at the first part. The idea doesn't make sense, except for one interpretation Tony feels like he has no right even daring to conceive of as true, let alone _believe_, but for a second, Tony lets himself wish for it, buoyed by the memory of a soft bed, and a warm hand on his hip.

Tony keeps his gaze on Steve's, and asks, trying not to let too much of the hope bleed through. "But you were _hoping _it was me?" he presses, carefully.

Steve's smile blossoms slowly, if a little crooked. "The idea of two people I had a crush on being the same person, you mean?" Steve says, and Tony completely forgets how to breathe.

Steve obviously remembers how to breathe himself, because he keeps talking, apparently aware Tony wouldn't be able to speak even if he needed to. "The more time I spent with both of you... " Steve shrugs. "Yeah, hoping is the right word." He bites his lip and looks away, his bravery quotient used up. "I didn't know for sure," Steve finishes, with a mumble.

Tony feels dizzy. He's finding it hard to believe it's true, and yet, he can't consolidate the words to a universe where Steve would lie. And Steve's sad mumble is almost too much to bear. "I'm sorry," Tony admits, because he's started to learn how to apologize, and if anyone deserves his genuine best, it's Steve Rogers. "I had reasons at the start to lie. And the reasons became fear, and—honestly, I'm still scared."

"You don't need to be," Steve says, and he wrinkles his mouth for the briefest of seconds, and then holds his arms out tentatively, like he's not entirely sure he'd be welcome, and how would he ever _not_ be welcome? Tony moves forwards and sinks against him like he always really wants to, and Steve's arms move up to hold him, and Tony melts into the hug. "But I understand the feeling. I think I'm scared every single day."

"When did you—I mean—"

"When did I first think you might be Iron Man?" Steve laughs into Tony's skin. His hands are idly moving on Tony's back in a gentle, stroking motion. Tony doesn't think Steve's even aware he's doing it, or how it's affecting Tony. He feels like his entire body is made of sparks. "The very first time, really, was the same way I thought you might be interested in dating me."

Tony blinks. "What do you mean?" he asks, cautiously.

"You never denied it," Steve says. "For all the jokes, you never simply came out with _I'm not dating him_. The same way whenever a journalist pitched all those rumors, that _you_ were Iron Man, you never straight-out denied it. Not once. Michael... _he_ denied it nearly immediately. There was never any good reason for you not to do the same. Not really."

"Well, plausible deniability, I suppose," Tony mutters, vaguely, squinting at Steve. "But that long? Really? Because those rumors have been around since the beginning of the Avengers."

"I've never been sure," Steve says. "But I hoped." He smiles, and then flat-out _smirks_ at Tony. "And I'm still hoping." Tony must look as confused as he feels, because Steve's smirk widens. "You never denied you were Iron Man. And you've never denied we're dating. Not once. So I have to infer something very interesting from that."

There's a definite heat in Steve's gaze that Tony can't interpret as anything else, and it's dizzying. "And what's that?"

"Well," Steve says, slowly, "I guess if you want me to think otherwise, you'll have to convince me."

Tony deliberately, carefully, doesn't even move a muscle. He can feel Steve visibly relax against him. Maybe he was right, about always being scared. But he doesn't need to be scared of Tony. Tony's a sure thing for Steve. He always has been, from the moment they met.

"Good," Steve says, simply, when he realizes what Tony's saying with his silence, and the word is a rush of warmth that thrills down Tony's spine. This feels almost too easy, except Tony feels like maybe he's dreaming. "Because I've got to admit, when you showed me how the armor worked, it was really good you let me sit down first."

Tony startles into a laugh, and lifts himself a little out from Steve's embrace, but only enough so he can look Steve directly in the eye. "You're bolder than I thought you would be."

Steve's eyes are impossible to look away from. "Well, I learned that from the best. There's this idiot I'm kinda fond of, he once tried lying to Captain America. Repeatedly."

"That is bold," Tony says, consideringly. He glances away from Steve, still staying in the circle of his arms, and his eyes graze the red button again. It would still be so easy to stop the construction, to package Iron Man away until someone more worthy wanted to wear the armor.

But Steve wouldn't bother with someone he didn't think was already worthy enough. That's almost as dizzying a thought as the way Steve's arms around him makes him feel.

"I have to give up something, though," Tony says, and he shakes his head slowly. "There's just too much going on, for both me, and for Iron Man."

"Well," Steve says, slowly, "we can start with your secret identity. At least to me, and then to the rest of the Avengers, when you're feeling a bit better about it. That's a good start." He lifts up a hand to Tony's cheek, and lets it rest there; Tony pushes into it, needing the touch to anchor him to reality. If this isn't really happening, Tony doesn't want to wake up.

"This isn't going to be easy," Tony says, and looks forcibly away from the console.

Steve's hand on his face is firm. "The best things in life rarely are," he breathes, before tipping Tony's head back and kissing him. When he eventually pulls back, breathing hard and his cheeks pink, Tony's toes are curling and he has to resist the urge to check how his chestplate is holding up. His technology is fine. It's just Steve making his heart race. Steve rests his forehead against Tony's, still struggling for breath, and then he eyeballs the bed in the corner, speculatively. "Is your mattress really as dirty as it looks?" he asks.

Tony startles again, laughing, and he flickers a loaded look of promise up at Steve. "Could be dirtier," he says, cautiously. "But we'd _definitely_ have to be dating for something like that. I don't know about the other kind of rumors you've heard about me that I haven't had time yet to deny, but I'm not that kind of boy."

Steve laughs, delighted. "The Avengers already think we're dating. I wouldn't want to disappoint them."

"I wouldn't want to disappoint Captain America either, obviously."

"That would be a bold move," Steve laughs. "And on a more serious note, I don't think you could."

Tony shivers at the sound of that. That kind of optimism and faith in him… It's not exactly been something he's heard a lot of in his life. "Wow, you really must like me," Tony says. "But also, it sounds like a challenge."

"Oh no," Steve says, and starts tugging Tony over to the bed in the corner of the workshop. "You can lock this workshop so no one can get in, right?"

Tony leans over to the right console to do it, and eyeballs Steve. "You do realize if I get near a bed, I'm probably going to fall asleep on you again, yeah?"

Steve laughs warmly. "Now that's a challenge I think I'll accept."

* * *

It's almost funny how quickly time moves when it's scheduled properly, with actual nights of sleep, and regular meals. The weeks just breeze past. Tony can barely believe it when he's celebrating his month anniversary of dating Steve with a picnic, on the floor of the workshop, under the triumphant shadow of a functioning, _safe_, finished set of Guardsman armor. Tony hasn't told the Avengers yet that he's Iron Man, but it's only a matter of time.

Michael tries the Guardsman armor out three times before Tony signs it out, and then they hold a brief press conference announcing Michael's intention to patrol the world as the Guardsman. He doesn't want to be an Avenger. Tony's still mildly surprised at that, because he thinks the Avengers are the best thing ever, but Kevin had never really warmed to authority structures, and Michael wants to be the Guardsman in Kevin's honor. Tony approves the venture with his blessing and a pass that will allow Michael into any _Stark International_ facility for repairs. He makes sure every single one of his facilities has a locker of parts for the project, and instructions and a direct line to Tony for if and when repairs are necessary.

Tony drops in at the mansion to see Michael one last time before he officially starts his mission, only to meet a recently-returned Jarvis at the front door, who informs him that Michael's already packed up and gone. Tony tries to call him on his identicard, but Michael doesn't pick up. When Tony tracks the identicard's signal on his phone, he finds the identicard abandoned on Michael's bed, with a simple note:

"_Sorry I couldn't wait. I needed to see Kevin before I left. Thanks for everything. -MOB._"

It's short and sweet. Tony laughs, bittersweet. Kevin's notes were usually that short too.

Still, Tony has one last gift for Michael, and he hopes he has time to give it to him. Michael's flying out to Lakani, to visit Kevin's ex-wife and pick up some of Kevin's possessions, but his flight isn't for six hours. Tony hurries back out to his car and directs Happy to the graveyard.

Happy insists on waiting in the car, so Tony picks up the bag with his gift in and heads out. He can see Michael's bowed head, the distinctive red-hair clear all the way from the front of the graveyard. The Guardsman armor, newly made and guaranteed not to scramble the pilot's brain, is tucked in a briefcase at Michael's side.

Tony walks up slowly, making his approach clear, giving Michael time to gesture him away if he needs to be alone, but when Michael sees him, he just waves Tony in.

"I hoped I'd see you before you left," Tony says, awkwardly shuffling around to join Michael at the graveside. Tony's throat is dry and the air is tense, like it may soon rain.

"You didn't have to," Michael says. "I kind of hate goodbyes."

"Well, it's not really goodbye, I hope," Tony says. "I mean, no one else knows how to fix that armor. And from one armored adventurer to the other, your first few missions probably won't go as smoothly as you're hoping."

Michael grins, but doesn't tear his eyes away from Kevin's gravestone. "God, I miss this stupid bastard." He purses his lips, keeping his head bowed. "Do you think there'll ever be a day when I won't?"

Tony shakes his head slowly. "Hasn't been a day yet where I haven't thought about him." His eyes feel hot. He'd thought he and Kevin would be fighting together one day. Side by side. He wonders if there's an alternate universe out there where the accident didn't happen. The missile was one inch to the left. The fuel tank was smaller. Or Kevin had actually listened to him and never put on the armor before it was ready to begin with. The testing would have picked up the flaw. Kevin would be alive. But then, he probably wouldn't have been _Kevin_ if he hadn't put on that armor when Tony warned him not to.

"I miss him," Michael says, and stares down at the name. "I'm going to save a lot of people in this armor. In his name and in yours." He looks at Tony, his eyes glinting fiercely. "He would have been so proud of you for figuring it out. You should have heard how he talked about you. Like you were the center of the universe."

"Well, I guess you already knew he was kind of stupid," Tony says, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "He saved my life. And I can't bear that he's gone."

Michael smiles back sadly. "He'd say you saved his life too. That dead-end position in Lakani was killing him. He was _miserable._ You gave my brother back _hope_, Tony." It's the first time Michael's called him by his name, and Tony's face nearly crumples. "I can never thank you enough for that."

"Oh, I brought something," Tony says, quickly, his breath shuddering a little, and not from the cold. He's never really had a great relationship with grief. It's just one more thing to work on.

"For me?" Michael questions, eyebrows furrowing. "You've already given me everything."

Tony quirks him a look, because Michael had gone to personnel and forcibly removed himself from Tony's payroll a couple of weeks ago, and Tony had been too distracted to notice. "Well, not exactly for you," he says, and pulls out the gift.

He holds it out in both hands. It's the Guardsman helmet, the one without any circuitry or screens inside, the one designed to be the Trojan horse to take Midas down. Instead of the alloys Tony made it out of, it's pure gold now from Midas' ray. Tony didn't get Abe Klein to reverse the process.

Michael's expression softens.

"He'd be so proud of you," Tony says, his voice barely audible above the wind shifting around them, ruffling the neat grass around the gravestones.

"He always _was_ so proud of you," Michael replies, and looks at Tony, eyes shining. "He loved Iron Man so much. He was so proud to be able to say you were his friend. Iron Man _and_ Tony Stark."

Tony nods. He's crying again, but this time he doesn't care if anyone sees.

Kevin O'Brien deserved to be mourned. Unashamedly. Every day.

He was a hero.

Tony puts the golden Guardsman helmet down carefully on Kevin's grave, and Michael stares down at it with him for as long as he can, both of them trembling but standing strong.

_Dear friend, whoever you are, here, take this kiss,_

_I give it especially to you—Do not forget me,_

_I feel like one who has done his work—I progress on,_

_The unknown sphere, more real than I dreamed,_

_more direct, darts awakening rays about me—_

_So long!_

_Remember my words—I love you—I depart from_

_materials,_

_I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead._

**Walt Whitman, "So Long!"**

**Author's Note:**

> _This work is intended for the private enjoyment of the reader. I do not give permission to share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads, which I believe is a resource intended for published works outside of fandom._


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